


All I want from you is to see you tomorrow (and every tomorrow)

by singilu



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-13 08:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singilu/pseuds/singilu
Summary: All I want from you is to see you tomorrow (and every tomorrow), Zitao/Sehun, side Chanyeol/Jongin, NC-17, 24 444 words-au, (slight) mentions of homophobia and issues of accepting one's sexuality- Sehun meets Zitao and learns to stay still, just for a little while. Together, they learn to be with each together.- written forliberosis, forbottomsehun, originally postedhere, title is from Justin Timberlake’sNot A Bad Thing





	All I want from you is to see you tomorrow (and every tomorrow)

Sehun scrubs at his eyes and makes a face when he realizes his fingers are now stained with glitter and runny eyeliner. He must look like a goth teenager who doesn't know his way with makeup, and he just hopes a taxi will stop for him soon. He searches his scattered brain for the name of his hotel, only to come away blank. Then he realizes he's back in Seoul and he has to go home. Someone behind him coughs, and he turns around, thoughts jumbled. A few staff people are smoking by the studio entrance. He catches one of them looking at him. Young, broody little thing. Well, maybe not so little. Sehun figures the boy might be as tall as him, but that's not important. He's not smoking and ... Sehun looks back to the road sharply. He wants a shower and a meal, and his apartment has no food but does have the best showerhead he could have found so he needs to focus on that. He waves a taxi down and gets in.

"Where to?" the driver asks, eying him oddly. Sehun's mind is blank again, not remembering his own address for a moment. Now he looks like a goth kid with no makeup skills _and_ a drug problem. The taxi driver shifts in his seat. Sehun bites his lip and remembers.

"Long day," he mumbles in excuse and leans back into the seat only when he's pretty sure he isn't getting kicked out.

He looks out of the window and the group of smokers is gone, save the one that didn't smoke in the first place. The boy stares right at him. Sehun probably isn't much older than him, but he feels _so_ old as he measures him through the glass and judges the boy's inability to hide the obvious interest in his stare. The taxi finally jerks into motion, finding its way into the busy traffic, and the motion makes Sehun blink. The boy drops his head and turns around to get back inside. He has a nice ass and solid thighs. If he had asked, Sehun would have gone with him.

 

 

Sehun's apartment is empty, but at least it's not a mess because he's been actually paying someone to clean and wash for him. It's better than coming back to a progressively thicker mist of dust floating in the light whenever he dropped by in between shoots and flights. He dumps the contents of his duffel bag into his laundry basket, clothes smelling of cigarette smoke and too much hairspray, and weirdly sticky with humidity like they get every time he flies to China. That morning he'd gone right to the shoot from the airport, and now the exhaustion sets in heavily.

He orders food and spends the time until it arrives in the shower, scrubbing down his hair and body with the last of his shampoo. He eats on his couch, his beer bottle leaving an ugly circle on the glass table. It probably isn't the most practical surface, but all he cared for when picking this place was the size of his bathtub and his fridge. The bed and the showerhead he could have replaced. This apartment was probably a money hole, what with the maintenance fees, the costs of utilities and to keep it clean, but someone had just given him a lecture in Singapore about how the real estate is the best kind of investment when his last lease ran out, so he bought the first decent sized top floor apartment with a nice view and huge tub that he saw. That was the last time he had been in Seoul for more than a week, about ten months ago.

He only realizes he's eaten two servings of black noodles when his chopsticks scrape against the bottom of the second container. He probably shouldn't have done that, and he'll raise a small hell if he turns up on set bloated tomorrow, but it's done. He picks up after himself on autopilot and heads straight for bed. There's a party starting somewhere right about now, he knows. He feels strangely tense, something that too loud music and maybe a quick blowjob could fix, but once Sehun's face hits his pillow, he doesn't move. Not tonight. He should probably call Jongin before the other makes good on his promise of forgetting him for good. Tomorrow. Jongin is too soft to forget him just because in the past three months Sehun's only communication with him had consisted of Sehun liking Jongin's Instagram pictures of his dogs. Well, he also talked about Jongin with Chanyeol, and he's pretty sure that counts as caring.

 

 

Sehun doesn't smoke ... not anymore. It's all Chanyeol's fault really. He bet Sehun to stay away from cigarettes for a week, and Sehun really, really wanted to win. It was worth it when the night of the eighth day, Chanyeol walked out of the hotel in Amsterdam in a tight skirt and high heels that did nothing to hide his terribly shaped legs. How he got booked was always beyond Sehun's comprehension. But then designers and fashion editors all had their kinks. Later that night, they were leaning against the wall outside of some club and Sehun was furtively searching for a stick.

"Why start again? I mean, you already held off for a week and not smoking does _wonders_ for your skin," Chanyeol said, and he was smirking, his face as ugly as it could get when Chanyeol was smug. His skirt had ridden up high on his thighs. Chanyeol had apparently shaved his legs. Sehun wondered if he always did that or if it was for a special occasion. He stopped searching through his jacket, hooking his fingers into his jeans pockets.

"Isn't it tiring to care for people who don't want you to?"

Chanyeol just chuckled.

"Stop meddling."

Chanyeol swung his arm around Sehun's shoulders and flagged down a taxi because neither of them remembered how to get to the hotel on foot. It was a five minute ride around three corners.

That was five months ago. Sehun probably doesn't smoke only because he wants to tell Chanyeol how he actually had to start going to gym since he had stopped and that he is a jerk. But he has no clue where Chanyeol is now, or when he'll see him again.

But as Sehun rushes through the building, running on a bottle of water and a cup of instant coffee he managed to make in his apartment, he wishes he still smoked so he could at least sink his nose in his hoodie and relax a little, his mind fooled just for a few seconds into thinking he is on a break by some back exit, inhaling smoke and night air, and not running late to yet another photo shoot. He drops through the right door just as the photographer starts talking about his concept, airy gestures and dreamy naive eyes. Sehun snorts.

"Oh, I remember now," the photographer says when his eyes finally fall on Sehun. "You're the model I picked. Who are you then?" he asks, pointing at the boy from yesterday. Sehun frowns.

"Zitao," the boy mutters. "I'm the lighting crew at this studio," he adds, realizing he probably wasn't asked for a name exactly.

"Ah," the photographer―Zhang Yixing, Sehun manages to remember the name and the insistence with which Minseok repeated it to him―says.

That seems to conclude the photographer's monologue as he ventures off towards the tripod, and a makeup artist pokes Sehun's cheek in annoyance, muttering about evil noodles under her breath.

Zhang Yixing, according to Sehun's manager Minseok, is an up and coming star, talented, creative and already high in demand. Sehun should make sure Zhang Yixing remembers him. He only wonders how he should achieve that if Yixing has confused Sehun and that boy, Zitao, just like that. Sehun sees them as nothing but contrasting. Sure, Zitao may be tall enough to model in Korea. Sehun's hair is blond, eyebrows high, neck thick, limbs thin and his overall look what his agency likes to label as that of a royal―Sehun always frowns and thinks of a weak and too fragile porcelain cup with no use beyond being displayed in a dusty glass cabinet. Zitao is broody, dark eye bags under his eyes, black hair, pierced ears, arms and thighs thicker and sturdier, and a look so intense Sehun is reminded of a ninja he wouldn't want to meet in the dark―strong and unbreakable, Sehun thinks as he morbidly draws a comparison. And yet Zhang Yixing thought they would both fit his concept for today.

Sehun doesn't realize he's spent the entire prep time thinking of this until he is in front of the camera lens and he shifts into focus. Zhang Yixing might have looked air headed, but his instructions are minute, his attention to detail on point, and by the end of the shoot, Sehun's interest is piqued. He wants to please, remaining focused, pushing until the photographer is satisfied. All Sehun thinks of is Zhang Yixing's voice as he instructs and the shutter of his camera going off.

The shoot ends abruptly, Yixing clapping like a seal all of sudden as he calls it a day. Sehun blinks. The main light behind him goes off, and he turns at the sound of it. Zitao is standing there, looking at him. Sehun's stomach rumbles. He's eaten an apple for lunch, drank some water, and hasn't seen daylight since morning. He's disoriented, and wonders what time it is and why Zitao is not approaching him. Yixing comes up to him then instead, hands clasping his shoulders.

"Go clean up, you did well," he says amicably, and Sehun consciously forces the corners of his mouth up. _Make him remember_ , he hears in his head, and he bows slightly. Yixing only laughs a little. "You too, _Taozi_ ," he chides, looking behind Sehun, and when Sehun turns to look in the same direction, he catches the way Zitao blushes. He looks less like a ninja and more like a very lost, young man again.

Sehun hasn't done this in a really long time―approaching someone first. He's sore, and his shoulders hurt from the way he held himself stiff in one position for a long time, and there's still no food in his apartment. He's tense, and he should really call Jongin tonight, before he leaves the city again. Instead, he borrows a pen from someone passing him by and grabs a paper from the refreshment table. It's a hamburger wrap from McDonald's. Staff must have been sneaking junk food in today, and he didn't even notice. The paper's greasy, but Sehun figures it might as well be, just like what he's about to do. He scribbles his phone number and kakao talk ID on it. On his way to the changing room, he bumps into Zitao on purpose and reaches a hand around him to stuff the paper into the back pocket of his jeans.

Zitao jerks away from the touch, and it startles Sehun so much that he freezes for a second.

"Call me," he manages to say after a moment, much slower than he meant to, staring at Zitao's chest instead of into his eyes. He trips on his way out the door too. How uncool.

Well, at least he gave Zitao one more nice view of his ass. Sehun expects to have a message from him by the time he scrubs his face clean, but nothing happens. He slows down, cleaning up properly this time and finally checking the clock before looking for the clothes he came in. It's almost midnight, and he wonders where he could get food now. He wants meat. He also wants to know if he has been rejected, something that hasn't happened in a while. He didn't read the signs wrong though. Zitao has wanted. He has wanted Sehun so much. Now that Sehun isn't absorbed in work, he remembers his eyes burning at the back of his neck for long moments during the shoot, lashes batting as he slipped and looked at Sehun's lips when Sehun caught him watching at the end of the shoot. Now Sehun wants too. He wonders if Zitao really blushes easily when teased, if he could make him do it again if he went down on him in the hallway of his apartment.

Sehun's phone buzzes, but it's not Zitao this time either. Instead, Jongin is sending him pouty yellow emoticons because he's not free tonight. _But I'm glad I'm still on your contact list,_ he writes.

 _After this rejection, not for much longer,_ Sehun texts back, and finally grabs his wallet. He needs food and maybe a beer.

 

 

Near the studio exit, standing exactly where Sehun saw him for the first time, is Zitao, looking ahead at the road, greasy burger wrap in one hand, phone hanging from the other, its screen dark and sticky with fingerprints. "Oh," he says, when he notices Sehun, and it sounds thick and a little scared.

"You know where to get food around here?" Sehun asks, hiding his nose under the zipper of his hoodie because it wasn't a rejection after all. Still, he doesn't want to look _too_ eager. Zitao, however, doesn't move, only looks at him, silent. "I'll get in trouble if I eat cup ramen," Sehun adds, lifting his chin and pouting. Maybe this will work better than acting suave with Zitao. Still, they stay quiet. Awkward. "I'll foot the bill if you lead me to meat." Sehun isn't used to working this hard for this.

"I'm not a peach," Zitao says at last. Sehun blinks. "This way," Zitao adds then, and starts walking. His phone goes into his back pocket, and Zitao really has a nice ass, even if he is a weirdo. He still clutches to the paper with Sehun's number.

"Were you going to ever contact me?" Sehun asks, suddenly.

"No." Zitao doesn't even turn around. "But we can just eat together," he says, and it sounds like he is consoling himself more than Sehun.

It's Sehun's big inflated ego that is hurt though. "Your loss, Zitao," he mutters in the end, straightening his shoulders and catching up with Zitao.

"I guess," Zitao breathes out, surprising a chuckle out of Sehun. Zitao isn't smiling though. Aren't they flirting? "And just Tao is fine."

"Oh. I'm Sehun."

"I know."

Zitao likes his sentences as short as his name then.

 

 

The Happy Meat Buns is a dingy little place, and the old lady that shuffles from the back door starts speaking to Zitao in rapid Chinese. Sehun's been to Bejing plenty of times, but he hasn't picked up much beyond greetings and ‘thank you’ and ‘please’ and ‘take me to the airport’. Zitao's entire face softens though. He smiles at the lady warmly, replying easily while he reaches over the counter and helps himself to two glasses and a beer bottle. His voice in Chinese is deeper, but the language is soft on his lips. Maybe this is why he's so short and brazen in Korean. All the contradictions.

"Have you ever been to Qingdao?" Zitao asks Sehun, as he drops into a seat and gestures for Sehun to sit opposite of him. Sehun considers the chair next to Zitao, but in the end, he sits where he's told to and contemplates this non sequitur question. "You travel a lot, right? For your job." Zitao probes, and now that Sehun has heard his Chinese, the Korean feels a little clumsy and much more careful. He's not using polite language, even though Sehun is sure Zitao must be younger than him.

"No. I haven't," he replies and raises an eyebrow. "And I'm pretty sure I'm your hyung," he adds. He's mostly teasing, wondering what the reaction will be. The old lady comes out the back again with rice and some side dishes.

"I don't think so," Zitao says, when she's gone.

Sehun kicks him under the table. "Keep talking," he huffs. Zitao is looking at him, corner of his lips lifted a little now, like maybe he could be a cocky brat after all, if he wasn't so cute with how he watches the old lady wobble around and apparently blushes easily. Sehun is confused. He can't stop looking at Zitao.

"I saw your profile in the studio today." Zitao rearranges the side dishes and steals a pickle. "You're born in April. 1994." He says the numbers carefully. Sehun licks his lips when the smell of grilling meat hits his nose.

"That's right. April 12. Don't forget to wish me. You have my number now," he says, and dares to run the tip of his sneaker against Zitao's shin under the table.

Zitao flinches. "So I'm older," he finishes his thought.

Sehun presses his lips together. "You're lying," he says, while Zitao scoots back in his seat and his lips turn up just a little again.

"I'm not. I'm a beef. 1993," he says, confidently.

Sehun laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes. "Sure, beef, a nice young bull is it? Are you packing like one too?" Sehun can be so lame sometimes, and he knows it, but it's _beef_ , nice meat and all, and he can't stop snickering.

Zitao's ears color, and he looks back towards the counter, keeping quiet. Sehun blinks again, thrown off balance, and then there's a plate of grilled meat in front of them and the old lady is patting Zitao's hair down. She is telling him something, pulling at his jacket, and it seems like she's chiding him. Zitao lets her, one of his hands steadying her hip gently until she is done and leaves them alone.

The food is great, the beer cold, and Sehun is ... happy, sitting here with a stranger who smells of beer and grease and the hairspray they've both been breathing all day long. Sehun rocks back and forth in his chair and watches Zitao as he finishes his third bowl of rice. Sehun feels too full, and he's just been watching Zitao eat for the past half an hour.

"Is Qingdao your home town?" he asks at last.

Zitao nods. "The sea is beautiful."

"What are you doing in Korea?"

A scratch to the back of Zitao's neck. "Work. Dreams."

"Why weren't you going to call me?" It's out of Sehun's mouth before he can stop himself.

Zitao pushes his bowl away, and his chopsticks cling too loudly as he puts them down on the table.

"I'm not. I'm not like that. I like girls," he says. He doesn't look up.

Sehun's happiness is always short lived if he stays still for too long. Maybe that's why modeling is such a perfect job for him. He's always coming and going.

"I need to go home," he says.

Zitao nods solemnly.

 

Sehun leaves money on the table, not waiting for the bill, and takes a taxi home. He takes another long shower, throws random clean clothes into his duffel and sets his alarm. He's leaving tomorrow morning, though only to Jeju this time. He drops into bed, but can't sleep. He sends whiny text messages to Jongin over kakao talk and Jongin, when he finally gets back from whatever party he's been to, laughs at him. _I thought everyone wanted you. Maybe you're getting rusty._

Sehun knows Zitao has wanted him. That makes him feel even worse. Peach, in Chinese, is _táo zi_. The picture of it that pops up in a Google search looks ripe and sweet and so, so desirable. Sehun grabs for his iPod and puts a random dance mix on. It resonates around him from the speakers, and he concentrates on the heavy beat, keeping his mind from straying, heavily focused on the thud thud of the bass until his heartbeat feels like it has synchronized and he finally falls asleep.

 _Jeju is awesome in spring,_ Chanyeol texts him. _Get your pasty ass out of the hotel room and do something uncool and touristy. Like a normal person._

Sehun grins and flicks his hair out of his eyes. He's not inside. He's sitting on the hotel's terrace, actually having a proper lunch, with a salad and all. Minseok would be proud. It is nice, still a little cold, and the wind is strong enough to mess up his hair, but the sun is out and it's the longest Sehun has spent outside while not on a job in the past few months. He sees the newest trendy idol group file out of the hotel, and he knows their performance rehearsals are over. He should get back inside. He turns his face towards the sea one more time and watches the waves crash against the rocks on the shore beneath the hotel. Maybe this is what Zitao meant when he said the sea in Qingdao is nice.

Just like that, Sehun is disgruntled. He stands up, bites his lip and pulls his face into its standard blankness. He buries his nose into his sweater just for a moment. His fingers twitch for a cigarette, but he keeps walking. His sweater smells only like the fabric softener his cleaning service buys for him, clean and impersonal. The air around him is salty and humid. His hair is going to suck throughout this show, he knows it.

 _Send me your schedule. I haven't seen your face in forever. I'll check where we can do another club run together,_ Chanyeol messages him.

Sehun doesn't know why Chanyeol bothers. Plus Chanyeol likes dingy pubs with live subpar music more than clubs anyway. It's a mystery why he keeps in touch with Sehun now that he actually managed to get into Jongin's sweaty drop crotch pants. Sehun didn't even help or anything. That was all Jongin's bad taste in men and his soft heart.

 

 

Minseok booked Sehun in Paris for a week. Sehun can still hear the smugness in his voice when he briefed Sehun on his schedule. An audition for a worldwide campaign and Sehun hasn't really been to one of these in some time so he better not make that face he always does and work hard. A booklet shooting for one of his smart wear jobs, the autumn collection. Honestly, Sehun thinks it's neat that this time they are shooting it as late as April, weather accuracy and all. And then a conveniently timed shoot for one Korean magazine. "I think you even have a day off somewhere in there," Minseok said, cheerfully, probably mentally patting himself on the shoulder. Sehun wondered then if it would be too unkind to tell him that he'll most likely spend it napping in his hotel room.

He has a day to change his set of travel clothes in Seoul before he flies out. In the evening, he finds himself standing in front of The Happy Meat Buns. He doesn't even know if that's something they sell. Something tells him they don't. He looks inside through a window, and it's so weird how he can see the entire tiny restaurant through it. Sehun doesn't know what he expected from this visit, why he's peering in like some stalker, instead of striding in and ordering food. There, inside, Zitao sits at the same table they sat at together last time, with a girl, petite and cute, ponytail swinging behind her, smiling at him as she feeds him rice. Zitao looks at her so fondly, the same way he watched the old restaurant owner walk around the last time. Sehun takes a step back. He catches a taxi two streets down the road and orders chicken when he gets home. Jongin's still too busy with his latest project to meet up.

_I don't understand. I hear nothing from you for months (and no, liking my Instagram posts doesn't count, Oh Sehun), and now you are like a puppy begging for attention. As always your timing is shit._

That is a lot of sentences for Jongin to type up. Sehun eats another drumstick with greasy fingers, trying to make sense of the episode seven of some drama that he'll probably never catch again.

 _I'm sorry,_ Jongin texts later, and Sehun figures his show has probably ended. _Next time for sure, I'll make time._

It's not like Sehun didn't know that, but he feels a little better as he puts empty food boxes together and goes to sleep.

 

 

_Happy Birthday. Tao_

The message comes late at night after the magazine editorial shoot while Sehun wanders around the streets near his hotel in Paris. He's staying on Saint-Michel, so he really isn't complaining. For all the bravado and trying to act like this is normal, like he does this all the time, big Europe cities still evoke a bigger twinge of excitement. He wants to feel the city around him, to try and breathe in this side of the world for a while, all its different smells and noises. The message makes him think of burnt oil, hairspray and meat buns. His birthday is tomorrow, but he figures it might already be morning where Zitao is, the early hours of it. He really has a day off tomorrow, and suddenly Minseok, with all his smugness and random holes in his schedule, makes sense. Instead of replying to Zitao, he sends a thank you message to his manager. Birthday in Paris. He might not sleep through the day after all. He swipes a finger over the message from Zitao and saves the number. Who even really texts like this these days? Sehun finds a picture of a peach and saves it as Zitao's caller ID.

 

 

The next day, he gets a message from his mom telling him to call home sometimes, from Jongin who calls him old, and one from Junmyeon who asks him to come visit now that he's back from army service. Minseok sends him a single yellow winky emoticon and ‘enjoy kiddo,’ and Sehun doesn't understand how he can act this old. That model who he hooked up with on his last birthday sends him a message too. For a year now, she's been convinced Sehun is her soulmate, pained and misunderstood just like her, and she keeps sending him weird pictures of places she goes. He never really replies, but she's made him smile a few times, and the picture of the cupcake with one candle is so ... normal by her standards, that he sends her a quick ‘thanks’ after all. With it, he attaches the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the dark, a photo he took last night.

In the evening, Sehun waits for Chanyeol at the appointed train station that he miraculously locates all on his own, because apparently the shared schedule consultation revealed Chanyeol to be ‘just around the corner’ in London, and "being alone in Paris on one's birthday is pretty pathetic. I'm coming over."

Smoking is banned in French restaurants, and Chanyeol laughs when Sehun finally gets to complain about how he actually has to work out now. "Some of the hotel gyms are so dreary." Chanyeol just looks pleased.

They sit at this small French diner, Chanyeol embarrassing his way through the meal order and Sehun staring at the bottle of champagne they ordered even though neither of them likes wine or the bubbles in it all that much. Chanyeol talks a mile a minute, about the weird designer―weirder than the norm, that is―who wanted him in London for a week, about all the places he's been to lately and about Jongin. Sehun furrows his eyebrows when Chanyeol's voice becomes serious all of a sudden.

"Is Jongin okay? Are you guys okay?" he asks.

Chanyeol's face splits into a huge grin, and he ruffles Sehun's hair. "Don't make that face, Sehun," he coos.

"Hyung." Sehun presses his lips together. The restaurant smells of cheese and fresh bread and seafood.

"Sometimes I forget how much you worry," Chanyeol sighs. "We're fine; it's just Jongin and his back, and me not being there enough to look after him. We'll figure it out."

Sehun digs his spoon into his crème brûlée and watches Chanyeol silently.

"You're too cute," Chanyeol sighs. "It's nice that you care. Jongin mentioned you've been in touch more, lately."

Sehun gave up on contradicting Chanyeol long time ago. Of course he cares. He's just never around, and Chanyeol and Jongin have been together for a while now, always acting like nothing could be better. But he gets it, how Chanyeol is never there either and how Jongin plays tough and they are stupid, so he should maybe check up on them more often.

"Sehunnie, eat your dessert. Everything's fine." Chanyeol pats his hand again, and his smile softens.

It's a good birthday. Chanyeol leaves on the first train to London next morning, and Sehun spends it learning the details about the brand for which he's auditioning. He never replies to Zitao's message. He doesn't think about the boy who likes girls, wants Sehun and sends him text messages from Korea only because Sehun told him to. Sehun doesn't have time for this.

 

 

There are millions of studios and possible shooting locations in Korea. Somehow, Sehun still ends up in the one around the corner from The Happy Meat Buns a week later. It might have something to do with Zhang Yixing apparently liking this studio and actually remembering Sehun enough to book him last minute for his next project. Sehun strolls in and the first thing he sees is Zitao adjusting one of the lights while Yixing chats his ear away in Chinese. Zitao keeps shaking his head, and Yixing keeps nodding his and hanging off Zitao's sleeve. Sehun heads for the make-up table and drinks a bottle of water. The BB cream they put on him smells like baby powder, and Sehun puts his headphones on, trying to focus on nothing but the work ahead of him. He's actually looking forward to working with Yixing, who is so accurate when leading his models and brings out Sehun's features so nicely in the finished pictures. Sehun can let everything go, body moving exactly the way he wants it to, when he doesn't second guess the instructions, his head clear under the bright lights.

He isn't distracted. He's too much of a professional to be, but when the shoot is over, he feels the toll of forcing himself to focus for the entire time, of keeping himself in check. Zitao smiles at him during the break, and Sehun practically runs outside, almost asking one of the staff on a break for a cigarette before he balls his hands into fists and hides half of his face in the loose t-shirt he's wearing. This one smells like it's been folded in a humid corner of a closet for too long.

"You want to go get food with us?" Yixing asks him at the end of the day, and _us_ turns out to be just Zitao and him, and food turns out to be meat buns. He doesn't understand how he ended up included in this company. This restaurant is starting to smell too distinct, like the places Sehun likes always do.

"I didn't know they had this here," Sehun mutters, and Yixing gives him a weird look. Zitao _giggles_.

Even so, Zitao never really meets Sehun's eyes until he has downed four beers. Then he stares unabashedly. Sehun doesn't even realize when Yixing leaves. His ankle is hooked around Zitao's under the table and he's too full. Happy meat buns have been way too good to stop eating.

"Thanks for the message," he says, when Zitao takes another swing from his beer.

"I'm expecting one in return," Zitao says, and winks. Sehun drags his foot away from Zitao.

"I don't know your birthday."

"You didn't ask." Zitao narrows his eyes conspiratorially. "You didn't even text back. But I'll tell you anyway. Only you." He drinks again, eyes sliding down Sehun's face, his neck, and stilling on the hand inches away from his own.

"I might forget," Sehun mutters.

"Maybe that would be better, anyway." Zitao, for someone who knows Sehun very little, is too good at making his stomach lurch.

"Text it to me later," Sehun decides, his fingers closing around Zitao's wrist.

Zitao laughs. "That's cheating."

 

 

Sehun has Zitao's number and the date of his birthday now. He's in China when the day comes, but he texts Zitao with a promise to take him out. He promises the same to Jongin the next day. A week later, he thinks it's a good idea to smash the two promises into one night out, and he sends them both a club address. Junmyeon, Chanyeol, Sunjoong and Amber show up too, and when Amber tackles him down like he's still a baby, and not a head or two taller than her, he realizes he's missed all of them. He doesn't mind this little ambush after all. Zitao bows his head when introduced and grabs Sehun's jacket right before they enter the club. Sehun turns to him, with a raised eyebrow.

"We'll dance. It'll be fun."

"Okay." Zitao seems to force his shoulders to relax. Sehun doesn't think he should worry. He fits right in, with his tight jeans, black leather jacket and dark eyes that draw everyone in. He watches them all from his place next to Sehun, their thighs pressed together as they sit on one of the couches. Jongin's leg is tapping to the beat the entire time they talk, impatient to get on the floor. Junmyeon worries too much about Sehun's sleep schedule, and the girls make fun of him for being a spoilsport. Chanyeol, always quick to get to know people, and openly intrigued, coaxes Zitao into telling the story of how he and Sehun met, when Zitao got confused for being a model.

"Wait, and after that, he paid for your meat?" Jongin asks, incredulous.

"I had to check out the competition." Sehun shrugs. "Something about keeping your enemies close?"

Zitao conveniently skips the part where Sehun hit on him and got rejected. Sehun uses the excuse of Amber shifting in her seat to press closer to Zitao in thanks. He drapes his arm around his shoulders and pretends not to notice how Zitao flinches away.

 

"Actually, is this the guy who rejected you?" Jongin asks when they are dancing later. Zitao is still sitting down, talking to Amber, and Sehun doesn't look back at him.

"Maybe," he says, watching Junmyeon as he tries to press closer to Sunjoong. Chanyeol doesn't even pretend he knows how to dance, letting Jongin do all the work for him. Jongin in turn rolls his hips back and leans against Chanyeol's chest, relaxed and content. Sehun is the third wheel par excellence.

"I didn't know you chase people," Jongin says, laughing. Chanyeol laughs with him, flicking his ear, but when he looks at Sehun, Sehun reads a bit of pity in his eyes. Chanyeol's too good at reading people, sometimes.

 

 

Zitao can dance. He keeps his distance until a few shoves from the crowd presses them together. Sehun only puts one of his hands on his hip, his touch light and a nod of his head to ask if it's okay. Zitao nods back slowly, and they dance like that until Chanyeol suggest they should leave. Sehun's completely sober, and he knows Zitao is too, but all he remembers is Zitao's body heat, the way his thumb brushed against a strip of skin on accident when Zitao lifted his hands to a faster song, and the way his aftershave wrapped around Sehun's senses as he focused on being close, but not so close as to chase Zitao away. When they head out, Sehun only keeps the hand on the small of Zitao's back so he doesn't get separated from him in the crowd.

"Come over," Sehun says to Zitao outside, when they have walked to where they can catch a taxi. Zitao jumps back like he's been burnt, looking anywhere but at Sehun. Sehun's gotten used to being watched by him, relentlessly, intently, with so much want, and the change when he looks away is jarring. "Just to sleep on my couch," Sehun plows on, just like when they first met, working for this too. "It's closer, and you don't have to pay the cab fare all the way home." Wherever that is.

"I'm ..." Zitao bites at his bottom lip, and Sehun makes sure he doesn't stare, makes sure his eyes are steady and looking into Zitao's. "I don't think that's ..."

"You made that clear the first time. I just don't feel like riding the cab alone and wondering if you got home okay. It's just practical. My couch is huge. You'll sleep well."

In that moment, Junmyeon says his goodbye, one hand on Amber's, the other on Sunjoong's elbow, and Chanyeol manages to wave down a taxi too.

"Be safe," he calls after Sehun and Zitao, sparing them one last long look, and he and Jongin are gone.

"Okay," Zitao says then, when there's only the two of them left standing at the curb.

 

 

The taxi ride is silent, and Sehun regrets asking Zitao over when he notices him looking ahead on the road, eyes wide and alert, hands clutching his own knees. He knows what this is, and he doesn't ... He has no reason to push this boy, and he didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but it's done now, and he searches his brain for anything to talk about.

Sehun only thinks of Yixing when they get out of the car.

"Yixing seems to really like you," he says when the taxi leaves, and they are all the way inside the elevator. Zitao stands a step in front of him, eyes on the door.

"I guess," he shrugs.

"At the studio the other day. It looked like he wanted something." Sehun may be prying.

"Ah." Zitao jerks into motion when the elevator stops, almost running away from Sehun. "He was being silly. He thinks I should model." Zitao laughs a little, derisive.

"And you don't want to?" Sehun slides the key into the door and opens it. It's hard to keep his distance in his narrow entry way. Sehun remembers how he wanted to see if he could make Zitao blush if he sucked him off right here. He stumbles back and hurries towards his kitchen. "You'd do okay," he shouts so that Zitao hears him.

Zitao moves quietly. Sehun almost jumps from where he's furtively searching his fridge for something to drink, when he speaks from right behind him.

"I'm not Korea's ideal type," Zitao says.

"The world is bigger than that," Sehun muses.

"It's not like I didn't try, for a bit." Zitao shrugs. "I don't want it. Not anymore," he adds. Before Sehun can say more, maybe ask about the dreams Zitao has mentioned before, Zitao smiles wanly. "I don't have your courage. But I like working behind the scenes, and Yixing wants his own team. I'd like to be a part of that."

"What else are you settling for?" Sehun asks, more for himself, handing Zitao a glass of water. Zitao narrows his eyes a bit, but doesn't lash out. Sehun would. Sehun is stupid for being this bold with someone he barely knows. He doesn't want to judge.

"You are so rude," Zitao says instead. "I'm not settling. I'm just changing. People can do that; their dreams change with them."

Sehun looks at his toes, and when he has nothing more to say, he moves towards his living room. "So. Here's the couch," he says, pointing to it uselessly.

"Jongin and Chanyeol. They are a couple, right?" Sehun is used to these abrupt changes in conversation by now, but. "I mean ..." Zitao stops talking when Sehun narrows his eyes.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, no," Zitao steps back a little and bumps into the couch, falling down onto it. "I just. They seem so ..."

"Out of the closet?" Sehun says dryly, sitting on the armrest, a good meter away from Zitao.

Zitao's eyes darken, but then he sinks into the couch, and he just looks tired and tense.

"Jongin's a dancer, Chanyeol models. It's a specific environment. Maybe better? Chanyeol's mom loves Jongin so much. She goes to all of his shows. It's okay, you know. The people that love you, they stick with you. Mostly, anyway."

Sehun knows it's not easy like that for everyone. "My mom is trying. I've dated girls. I just ... prefer boys. Men. She's trying so hard." Zitao looks even smaller when Sehun mentions parents. Sehun just plows on recklessly, even if he knows it's stupid. Even when he sees Zitao curling in on himself, physically too, toes pressed into the couch seat and knees against his chest.

"Have you ever ... have you ever been with a man?"

Zitao shakes his head violently. "No. It's not like that. I mean." Sehun wants to rubs his back, tell him no one's looking, no one's judging here, but he can't. He's waived that chance when he started talking about this, maybe when he first approached Zitao. He can't touch now. Zitao takes a shaky breath. "Only a little?"

"Only a little?" Sehun echoes. "Like ..." What does that mean?

"Kissing. You know. And such."

"You don't have to," Sehun has started this, but looking at Zitao, with his arms around his knees, he wishes he didn't. "I'm sorry I asked."

"I like girls," Zitao says. "Girls are so soft and right. I ..."

"I'm going to find you a spare blanket," Sehun says. He stands up, quickly, and finds the blanket his mom left here for cold nights. He grabs one of his own pillows, a towel, spare sweatpants and a t-shirt, too. "Here," he says, dropping everything next to Zitao. He doesn't want to sound so distant. "You should sleep. I'm sorry I asked. Just, sorry," he mutters. Zitao doesn't look at him. "Bathroom is down the hall and there are extra toiletries under the sink. Good night."

In his own bed, Sehun wonders just how much people can really change.

 

 

In the morning, Zitao is gone. Sehun makes a cup of instant coffee and doesn't expect the doorbell to ring. Zitao stands at his doorstep with a bag of groceries.

"Your kitchen is big and empty," he mutters.

Sehun hasn't had rice for breakfast in a really long time.

"I saw you have a bike," Zitao says as they're eating. His socked toes are touching Sehun's bare ones under the table, and the apartment feels warm, the rice and eggs and the smell of home pulling at Sehun's senses. "I like to bike too. Maybe sometimes we could go together, along Han river or something."

"Maybe," Sehun tries to smile. Zitao looks at him, and he still wants. Sehun wants too, still. But this one time he can't have, and trying makes him feel off balance. He doesn't want to get up from this table, and he doesn't want for Zitao to go back to bubbly soft girls with swinging ponytails. He wants so many things in this one moment, and his stomach rolls and rolls until Zitao washes the dishes, folds his blanket and leaves.

 

 

Sehun's pillow smells like Zitao's shampoo that night. Sehun almost expects it to be peach, but it isn't. Sehun is stupid enough to pack it into his duffel bag as he leaves for Hong Kong.

 _Tao doesn't look like your typical conquest,_ Chanyeol finally texts him that night. _I wonder if he can be conquered at all._

Who's worrying, now?

Sehun grabs his wallet and goes for a drink in the hotel's bar. There are a couple of models, here for the same charity fashion show as him, drinking there already. He gets pulled in to drink with them, and after a while, one of them asks him if he wants to go drink somewhere quieter. Sehun should go. Get this itch out of his system. He shakes his head and leaves alone. Under the weak spray from the hotel's showerhead, he closes his eyes and wraps his hand around his cock. It feels safer here. Further away from Zitao, maybe Sehun will feel a little less guilty when he imagines Zitao's fingers, thicker and longer than his own and maybe a little clumsy, pulling at him, rubbing at the head of his cock insistently before dragging down the length of it to his balls. He leans his head against the tiles and tries to breathe, tries to not choke on his moans when he imagines Zitao watching him come apart as he makes it happen. He comes and quickly washes up right away.

The pillow Sehun brought feels foreign compared to the coarser linen of this bed. He buries his head in it, but doesn't sleep. Instead he keeps sending Jongin random emoticons he finds on his phone, until Jongin furiously texts back that he's switching off his phone.

 _I would need a Trojan horse to complete this conquest. Or at least a pretty dress,_ Sehun texts Chanyeol. Chanyeol sends him a broken heart back. Sehun wonders how unfair it would be if he forwarded this one to Zitao.

 

 _I have a girlfriend,_ Zitao messages Sehun in the middle of summer.

They've been messaging for a while now. Sehun found a huge basket of peaches in a market in Osaka and sent a picture of it to Zitao.

 _China is the biggest producer of peaches in the world,_ Zitao sent back, and Sehun was in such a good mood for the rest of the day he kept messaging Zitao after that.

He wonders if some of Zitao's answers come right out of Wikipedia, but in between, Zitao keeps him up to date about joining Yixing for work every time he has a shoot in Seoul, about how he hopes to travel with him at least within Korea soon, how he still sometimes goes and helps with deliveries at The Happy Meat Buns, and how hot this summer is. Sehun's been to China twice since the night Zitao slept over and now knows Zitao's favorite Chinese candy, bringing bags and bags of it over to Korea. Some of them are still in his apartment. Sehun wants to be stocked up in case Zitao comes over again.

It hasn't happened yet, but they’ve gone biking late at night, when Sehun should be sleeping off another jet leg or partying after a successful shoot. Seoul feels almost peaceful at two am, when Sehun's chasing Zitao along the river bank. Sehun's apartment has a new picture from the trip he and Jongin took to London to _rescue Chanyeol from the clutches of the weirdest designer ever_ , and there are two new throw pillows on Sehun's couch from Kuala Lumpur. It was Lu Han who took him shopping there, and he asked Sehun if he was nesting when he saw the only things he bought that day. Sehun had pushed him off the pavement, pretty face or not. Still, lately, coming back to Seoul almost felt like he was returning home.

Now, he doesn't want to board the plane. He wants to cancel all the plans he's made with Zitao that he has time for because Minseok has been going easy on him lately.

His manager's strange scheduling―bigger gaps in between jobs, empty afternoons or mornings in foreign countries that allow Sehun to actually see at least the main street of the city he's staying in, actual breaks for food―puzzles Sehun. Maybe he isn't in demand anymore. Maybe his days are numbered. He has no clue what he will do next if that is true, but the uncertain outlook isn't as jarring anymore. Junmyeon's look over his finances tells a different story, though. He's doing pretty well. And so on his third day in Seoul without a job, when he runs out of excuses not to meet Zitao, he really schedules a coffee date with his manager.

"I feel like I haven't seen your face in 3D for a very long time," Minseok tells him, nestled in a soft chair of his favorite café, two cups of coffee already on the table when Sehun arrives. Minseok used to go to all of Sehun's photo shoots with him when he has just started, herding him around like the lost kid right out of high school that Sehun was at the time. When Sehun thinks of Minseok, he thinks of the fragrance of freshly ground coffee beans. He figures it's better than thinking of drying ink on his newly signed contracts, or of the sweat and the smell of deep night, when they sat on a bus stop waiting for the night bus to come.

Sehun shrugs. "It's not my fault you've abandoned me for younger and prettier models."

Minseok attempts to look scandalized for about three seconds before bursting into laughter, eyes in narrow slits.

"I would never abandon my biggest cash cow, Sehunnie. After all, I am a money hungry manager. You're not getting rid of me any time soon."

"Then why?" Sehun throws his hand in the air and wonders if it would be pushing it if he ordered some cake for lunch, since he slept through it that day. "I mean, my schedule feels a bit..."

"Are you complaining about having free time? Is that what this is about?" Minseok raises an eyebrow at him, so very amused. Sehun pushes his lips together, and he's probably giving Minseok his least favorite face, but it gets the point across.

"Fine. You just looked tired lately. It started showing in photos. A bit soulless. I mean, some people are into that, but I'd rather you aren't forever stuck with the image of ‘tortured twinky soul’, Sehun. I thought I'd ease up a little, change the strategy. I just haven't had the time to discuss it with you yet. We can pick and choose now."

Sehun feels ridiculous. He opens his mouth, but says nothing.

"You already look better, though. A little sad, but ... better. You weren't lying when you said you were working out. We might need to update your photo portfolio a little." Minseok sits back, seriously checking out Sehun's chest before looking him in the eyes again. Sehun thinks Minseok's actually enjoying watching him process all of this information. When Sehun keeps silent, still sifting through the info, trying to fish for the catch, Minseok laughs. "I'm doing you a favor. Remember it the next time I want you to do something you don't like too much."

"Hyung," Sehun whines in the end. Then, "I'm fine. Really. But thank you, I guess."

Minseok waves a hand at him dismissively. "Don't mention it. I have to go now. Drink your coffee, go order that cake you've been eying since we got here." He gets up from his seat, and only now does Sehun register that Minseok's coffee cup is empty already. "Stop by the agency tomorrow. We'll talk a bit more about this."

Sehun only nods and watches his manager leave with a swag of a supermodel and a contented smirk on his lips. Kim Minseok can be so scary sometimes.

 

 

They go out to eat noodles together. Zitao suggested another Buns visit, but Sehun doesn't want to, not this time. He already likes that place too much. Zitao slurps loudly and watches Sehun play with his own noodles.

"So you're like, bored now?" he asks when Sehun recalls his conversation with Minseok. "Because that is just a little funny."

Sehun kicks him under the table, and Zitao grabs his retreating ankle between his two, resolutely pulling it towards him. Sehun blinks at him.

"You look sad," Zitao says. He sounds a little like that, too.

"Why do people keep saying that?"

"Friends can tell," Zitao says seriously. Sehun's ankle is still in the death grip of Zitao's strong shins.

"Is that what we are? Friends?" Sehun doesn't want to sound bitter.

"Yes. I mean. I thought so. You're ... you're nice to me."

Maybe Zitao doesn't want to understand. He slurps in more of his noodles. Sehun stuffs his mouth as full as he can to stop himself from saying something. Zitao's ankle hooks behind his, and he starts talking about how he's learning to develop photos.

"Don't avoid me next time you are in town," Zitao says when they walk towards metro station. "Or I'll come chasing after you across Asia."

"Empty threats," Sehun says. The pillowcase Zitao slept on that one time has been washed a long time ago. But now that Sehun knows what he's looking for, every time Zitao swings a little closer, Sehun can smell his hair, fresh like a night river breeze.

 

 

Sehun's never been to Mexico before. The beaches are amazing though, and he finds out what the next season's swimwear trends will be like. Judging by the minimal size of the swimming trunk he's wearing, they'll be ridiculous. He feels pasty and out of place against the backdrop of golden sand, but the salt in the air is calming enough. When the shoot is done, he gets dragged around by the Korean staff that traveled with him, shopping for souvenirs. Sombreros are everywhere. The straw ones smell like the summer that is slowly passing. Sehun has no idea how he will get the huge hat to Korea still intact.

 

 

Zitao doesn't feel like biking that night. He keeps asking about Mexico and the ocean there, and what Sehun has in that huge bag hanging from his handlebars.

"You're going to fall off the bike and break that pretty face of yours," he says.

"My face is pretty, huh?" Sehun is a train wreck. Zitao tsks in annoyance. "Okay, let's stop then." Sehun gives up.

Zitao sits Sehun on the nearest bench and disappears. When he comes back with bubble tea, chocolate for Sehun and black with milk for himself, Sehun clutches the bench and doesn't look his way. His stomach clenches again. He figures he might as well give Zitao the hat.

"Sombrero. You bought me a sombrero in Mexico and had been dragging it around all night today to give to me?" Zitao can't stop laughing.

"Hey. Shut up. I'll take it if you don't want it. The Mariachi are super cool. Just so you know."

"No," Zitao bends over, covering the hat in his lap with his torso as though to protect it. "I'll find it a good place in my flat." He smiles wide, patting the hat almost lovingly. "Thank you."

"Yeah, don't mention it." Sehun would rather not have this spread. He doesn't do souvenirs.

"Now tell me just how cool the Mariachi are." Zitao elbows Sehun in the ribs and starts searching for the videos on his phone. "I would never peg you for a folk music enthusiast."

"Shut up."

Zitao laughs and laughs, showing Sehun videos and asking if he got to dance there. He swings his feet exaggeratedly and keeps patting the hat sitting on the bench between them. Sehun can never stay happy for too long. He has, as Jongin often puts it, impeccable timing.

"How's your girlfriend?" he asks. He's been psyching up to do it for a long time now. He wants to rip off the band aid. Zitao wants to be friends. Sehun can do friends. He would probably suck at anything else anyway.

Sehun is so scared of the answer, so focused on appearing blasé about it, that he doesn't realize Zitao freezing next to him. A lone biker passes by, the front light of his bike making Sehun blink furiously. Only then does he register the heavy silence. "Zitao?"

Zitao's shoulders sag. "I guess I didn't manage to like her enough. I ... it wasn't enough." He says it so quietly.

There's a heavy brick at the bottom of Sehun's stomach. Its sharp edges are cutting him from the inside out. Even the sombrero between them didn't save the summer in Seoul, and the slow chill of early autumn nights wraps around him. There's the smell of straw, river wind and chocolate bubble tea. Sehun's hands are shaking, his whole body tuned in to Zitao next to him, waiting for him to do something. Anything.

When Zitao turns to him, Sehun does the same. He's still waiting for the pin to drop. Zitao leans over the hat between them and kisses him. And kiss isn't something Sehun has been waiting for. It's just a press of lips, short and weak, and Zitao is pulling away. Sehun's arms burn with how fast he moves when he finally, finally realizes what's happening. He wraps them around Zitao's shoulders.

He kisses back.

Zitao gasps, and Sehun feels him shiver where he holds on to him. He bites Zitao's lower lip, pulls it between his own and sucks, harder, harder, until Zitao has to lean in more. Sehun refuses to move his hands even an inch in case Zitao pulls away. He runs his tongue over Zitao's lower lip. Zitao moves closer, his palm falling to Sehun's thigh for support. Sehun's tongue slips into Zitao's mouth, licking behind his teeth, tasting the black tea and tapioca. Zitao's nails dig into Sehun's jeans, and Sehun drags one of his palms up Zitao's shoulder, to the back of his neck, fingers reaching into Zitao's thick, black hair. Sehun sucks on Zitao's tongue, heat prickling under his skin when he hears Zitao's tiny groan.

Another biker with a bright front light passes by, the white cutting between them. Zitao shrinks back. Sehun's thigh is sore where Zitao has been gripping it, and he takes short, ragged breaths.

"We could go somewhere else. Inside," he blabbers. It's probably too public here for Zitao to kiss Sehun again. "I think my place is closer. Not that I know where you live, but we could. Whatever you want." He makes to reach for Zitao again. Zitao stands up, taking big steps towards his bike. He returns to grab the sombrero, but doesn't reach around Sehun for the bag. He looks at it, at a loss as to how to carry it, then sticks it on top of his head.

"I have to go. Goodnight," he says, and then he's on the bike, one hand holding that stupid hat as he pedals away as fast as he can. When Sehun stays still, happiness never lasts.

 

 

"I should be happy about free time, right? Minseok says I owe him. But I swear I'm suffering from airport withdrawal syndrome. I don't know where else to buy new underwear anymore, and I feel like shopping for a new set." Sehun takes a breath, and Chanyeol pushes his palm against his mouth to stop him from rambling on.

"What's going on? Really?" Jongin is sleeping curled up against Chanyeol on Sehun's sofa. Earlier he called Sehun's new pillows ugly, but right now he's pretty okay with squishing one against his stomach.

"I need new underwear?" Sehun says. Chanyeol's left eye twitches. "Everything is so still. It's not right."

"Being in one city for a week doesn't mean you're staying still. I think you could be more still if you're just travelling from one place to another, too busy to move forward. Sehun, you can stop for a moment. Think of the next step or something. Talk to people. Check up on your parents. Have dinner with us. I had to drag Jongin over here to wake you up so I could see your face and not just that ugly ID of yours on kakao talk."

Sehun puffs his cheeks and throws one of his legs over Chanyeol's. "I guess I could throw a movie night. I think I've seen every single movie they play on planes of like every airline company in Asia."

Chanyeol laughs, holding Jongin's head steady on his shoulder. "Or you could just go into a movie theater to watch one. If you don't want to take us, bring Tao or something."

Sehun's leg twitches.

"Ah," Chanyeol sighs.

"Tao might not even come to a movie night," Sehun says. "I think he's busy. Zhang Yixing is really dragging him all over Korea right now."

Chanyeol drapes his free arm around Sehun's shoulders. "You'll figure it out. If all else fails, you can always go ask Junmyeon for advice."

Sehun chuckles. "You think hyung is good with people advice? He can't even score a date with Sunjoong, and I think she actually likes him."

"Well your only other options are Jongin and me. I'm always here for you, Sehunnie. I just didn't know you've finally recognized the depth of my wisdom." Chanyeol leers. "Jongin will just feed you chicken though."

Sehun hits Chanyeol with his pillow, but doesn't pull away from Chanyeol's half hug.

 

 

Movie night only happens at the end of October because Sehun actually gets the spot in the campaign he auditioned for that spring in Paris. Worldwide, exclusive accessories contract. Leather is everywhere in this collection, and Chanyeol laughs at all the man purses. Sehun flies to New York for the first photo shoot, and to Paris for a launch party. There's press waiting for him in the airport when he gets back to Korea, which is something new. Minseok is the one wearing sunglasses, and he smiles as he escorts Sehun out to the car.

"You're enjoying this too much," Sehun tells him, as he collapses next to him into the passenger seat.

"Shut up, this was my fifteen minutes of fame."

"You mean mine."

"Whatever, don't get used to it."

Sehun laughs. "I'll try to stay humble, hyung."

 

 

Zitao comes to the movie night. Their messages have been scarce and awkward for the past few weeks; Sehun's pictures, and Zitao's random Wikipedia search results about them. They've only seen each other once since the sombrero incident as Sehun's been calling it. Yixing took them both to dinner to celebrate the fact Zitao is now only working for him. It was awkward, but Sehun's toes still ended up resting on top of Zitao's under the table. Zitao's brand new white sneakers had dark smears all over them by the end of the night. They smelled like new leather too. He wears the same sneakers and a red woolen scarf when he comes over for the movie night, and it takes him forever to unwrap it from around his nose and neck. It can't be that cold outside just yet.

Sehun doesn't register what the movie's about. He drinks beer and steals popcorn from Jongin. Zitao sits on an armchair, far away from him. Amber is leaning against his arm as they laugh and jump from surprise depending on what happens on the screen.

"Stare a little harder," Chanyeol hisses. Sehun picks up another beer. He's pleasantly tipsy when Zitao passes them on the way back from the bathroom and Chanyeol pulls at his hand, making him fall across his and Jongin's laps.

"I want to hear all about this famous Yixing guy," he says in excuse, and pouts. Oh, he's good at this wet dog look. Even Sehun wants to scratch behind his ear. "I haven't had a chance to shoot with him yet, and Sehun only ever says he's good." Chanyeol scoots over, and Zitao ends up squished against Sehun's side, talking to Chanyeol in an excited, low voice. He's using a new aftershave, but the shampoo has stayed the same.

 

 

Sehun doesn't know when he fell asleep, but when he wakes up, the living room is empty save for him and Zitao. Sehun's head is on one of his pillows, but the pillow is on Zitao's lap, and Zitao's fast asleep too, in slumber against the armrest. The TV is off, and Sehun doesn't know if everyone just went home, or if Chanyeol and Jongin are sleeping in his bed, like Chanyeol has wanted to try to for ages now. He tries to keep still, but can't help moving closer and turning on his side. His nose is pressed into Zitao's stomach like this. Zitao's shirt smells of popcorn and remnants of fabric softener, the one Sehun remembers his senses registering before. He's asked about it once too. Zitao gave him a fond look and named a generic brand from a supermarket near his apartment.

It's not like Sehun expected Zitao to sleep through Sehun impulsively mouthing at the fabric of Zitao's shirt on his stomach. Sehun is good at ruining his chances at something good. Zitao sits up straight, and Sehun does too. Zitao's eyes focus on him and his breath hitches. His lips are chapped from sleep, and Sehun wants to taste them again.

"Please," he mutters. He sways a little as he comes closer. Maybe Zitao thinks that Sehun's still tipsy from beer, but it's just that Sehun's right leg fell asleep under him and now is cramping. He steadies himself with a hand against Zitao's chest. "Please. No one's here," he says again, and swings a leg across Zitao's thighs, bumping the pillow away. Zitao's fingers come to grip Sehun's elbows. He looks like he might think he's dreaming this up. "Please," Sehun whispers one more time and leans down to kiss Zitao.

It's a wet kiss this time, a little sloppy at first, until Sehun grabs a handful of Zitao's hair and tilts his head better. He pushes his tongue deeper. The inside of Zitao's mouth is warm and soft. Dry lips trail across Sehun's upper one all of their own, and Sehun whines. He kisses Zitao's chin, lips dragging against faint stubble, then licks back into his mouth, pressing closer. Zitao's hand sweeps against Sehun's skin on his lower back where his t-shirt has ridden up, and Sehun uses his free hand to grab the back of the couch and pull himself forward. Zitao's too quiet, but Sehun keeps on whining, moving in Zitao's lap, pulling away for short breaths only to dip right back, the taste of popcorn and beer settling on his tongue. The next time he presses forward, he moans, registering the tension pooling in the pit of his stomach. Sehun's hard, his cock in loose sweats pressing against Zitao's stomach.

Sehun panics. Zitao will run away again. He can't. So Sehun runs instead, bolting for his bathroom and locking himself in. He looks down at himself in shame and turns away from the mirror, forehead pressed against the door. He tries to calm his breathing, tries to stay quiet. He listens for the steps, for the click of his front door. There's only silence. He refuses to jerk off. After what feels like forever, he allows himself to slide down the door and curl up on the floor. Sehun falls asleep like this, straining his ears for any sign of movement until he slips away into unconsciousness.

 

 

This time, Sehun wakes up to shivering, cold bathroom tiles pressing against his cheek and his side as he lies curled up on the bathroom floor. He checks the time, and it's still too early in the morning for anyone to be up. He figures it's safe to return to the couch, Zitao probably long gone. He shuffles out in the dark, eyes barely open. There's a blanket on the edge of the couch that was there the whole evening and another lump in the middle of it, moving up and down with even breaths. Zitao―sound asleep. Sehun stands there, rooted on spot, brain trying to come up with a solution. After a moment, he drags his feet into the entryway and counts the pairs of shoes scattered on the floor. Jongin and Chanyeol are still in the apartment as well. Zitao is too. His white sneakers are still there. He really is still on the couch. Sehun walks back towards it, his steps quiet and slow. He grabs the blanket, contemplating the hardwood, polished floors his friends had skidded on for fun last night. Zitao looks almost comically small curled up. Sehun never realized just how big his couch really is. He wraps himself around Zitao, fitting his body between him and the backrest, one arm curling around Zitao's middle to keep him in place. His heart hammers only for a little longer, gradually accepting the tempo of Zitao's slow breaths. Covered in the heavy blanket given to him by his mother, breathing in Zitao's shampoo, he falls asleep yet again.

 

 

The next morning, Sehun wakes up the last. He hears voices from the kitchen. His head hurts and his throat is sore. It's Sunday, and he's off work again. The smell of bacon and eggs is spreading from his kitchen, and then Chanyeol laughs, loud and boisterous. Sehun throws the blanket over his head and tries to fit himself into the narrow space between the backrest and the seat cushions of his couch.

"You're such a baby," he hears Jongin say, and the voice comes from way too close. Sehun groans. "Breakfast's ready. Chanyeol is showing off his English breakfast skills, so get up and come fatten up a little. I mean, it looked positively laughable, a twink like you trying to spoon Zitao."

Sehun whimpers. "Shut up." He's flushing. It's a good thing Jongin didn't try to attack his blanket yet. "He's not even that much bigger than I am," he adds as an afterthought. Zitao fit against his chest just fine.

Jongin laughs loudly and pats Sehun's shoulder blade, possibly thinking it's his head. Chanyeol's laughter gets louder, and then he's all over Sehun, bear hugging him and then pulling the blanket off him.

"Food, come eat some real food," he practically howls into Sehun's ear.

"I'm sick," Sehun mumbles, trying to wrestle Chanyeol off and pull the blanket back over him. "Go away."

Chanyeol slides down and pulls Sehun's head into his lap for a moment. He's still laughing, but he places a palm over Sehun's forehead.

"You don't have a fever, I think. You're not making it up?" he teases. Sehun still hasn't opened his eyes, but he shakes his head.

"My throat," he says, and it comes out raspy and dry.

"I'll make tea," Zitao says, voice quiet and serious, and Sehun's whole body jerks at the sound of it. Sehun _knew_ Zitao was probably still in the apartment. He doesn't want Zitao watching him wallow, though.

"You sound like a true English man," Chanyeol tells Zitao. "Tea solves everything."

"Then my mom might secretly be English," Zitao says. He clears his throat then, and Sehun's eyes finally fly open, searching for him. He notices him moving back to the kitchen, his back already facing Sehun.

"There you are." Chanyeol smiles down at him, patting his head. "Ready to face your personal body pillow, now?" he asks.

"Please, hyung, stop. Just, please this one time, don't. You can tease me some other time," Sehun finishes pathetically, eyes avoiding Chanyeol's.

"Okay," Chanyeol says, looking at him intently. "Jongin and I are having lunch with my parents anyway, so we'll leave after breakfast." He gets up and holds out a hand. "You'll be okay, here?"

Sehun nods. He's not so sure though.

 

 

Zitao frets. Sehun drinks water with lemons and searches his medical cabinet for something for his throat while Jongin and Chanyeol clean up the kitchen. Chanyeol is the king of English breakfast. Sehun just wishes everything didn't taste so bitter this morning. Zitao's been watching him like a hawk ever since he shuffled into the kitchen. Now that Chanyeol and Jongin are getting ready to leave, he moves closer, as though Sehun is going to collapse at any moment now, and Zitao needs to be there to catch him when he falls. Sehun hasn't looked at him properly yet. The moment the door closes behind his friends, he turns around.

"I'm sorry. About last night. I'm sorry, I just. I really wanted to kiss you." I always want to kiss you. "It won't happen again though." Sehun looks up at Zitao at last, and Zitao is biting his lip, eyes uncertain. "Won't happen if you don't want it to," Sehun corrects.

"I'm sorry you slept in the bathroom. Do you want another cup of tea?" Zitao asks.

Sehun shakes his head then nods, not sure what to react to. In the end he just follows Zitao back inside his kitchen, a little like a lost puppy. With the cold weather outside, and Zitao acting like it's his fault Sehun is feeling sick, there's not much to do.

"You like anime?" Zitao asks, exploring Sehun's DVD collection and munching on the Chinese candy that Sehun victoriously pulled from one of his cabinets.

"Jongin does. I guess I picked up a favorite or two." Zitao raises an eyebrow at the long shelves. "Do you want to watch something? The sports ones aren't that bad?" Sehun suggests.

Sehun ends up curled on one side of the couch, Zitao on the other. At some point though, Zitao pulls Sehun's ankles, lifting them over his thighs. He rubs up and down Sehun's shins, and Sehun shivers even if right now, he's definitely not cold. He dozes off a couple of times, and in the late afternoon, he wakes up to smell of pizza and jasmine tea. It's a strange combination. He had no clue he even had that much tea around here.

"Dinner of champions," Zitao announces. Sehun winces, thinking of tomorrow's shoot, but Zitao is smiling at him winningly.

"That's from my favorite pizza place. How did you know?" he asks, sitting up, slowly.

"It was the first menu I found in your kitchen," Zitao admits.

They stuff their faces full of pizza and watch a random music show on TV, Zitao rapping under his breath to a couple of the songs.

"Thanks for the dinner," Sehun says, wiping his fingers clean. "And for sticking around." Sehun looks at his socked feet and wiggles his toes.

"No problem." Zitao bumps his thigh against Sehun's. When Sehun looks up, Zitao is watching him with a steady gaze. Sehun can't read him at all. There's that want that's always there, always glowing at the edges of Zitao's actions, and it only makes Sehun's own desire that much stronger. But there's something else there too, something softer, something guarded. Then there's the ever present fear, spoiling all the other emotions. Zitao licks his lips. Sehun grabs onto his couch. He promised not to kiss Zitao. Not like this. Not now.

"You know, as repayment for my exquisite care, you could let me swim in your closet for a while," Zitao says abruptly, when Sehun looks back at his feet.

It seems the day's not over.

It's not like Sehun didn't notice that Zitao might be a bigger fashion enthusiast than anyone else he knows. Most of the people he actually keeps in touch with don't care much about what they wear. Sehun himself likes a brand or two, likes trousers that show off his ankles, nice shirts and a smart jacket from time to time. He likes sneakers because all boys do, and because they remind him of the days and nights he spent dancing with Jongin before he got scouted on the street. He can look put together, but he can also walk around in jeans and t-shirts and hoodies for days when he feels like it, and he doesn't care. Zitao though, is always dressed perfectly for the occasion. Now that Zitao's working with Yixing, Sehun's been seeing more branded clothes on him, and he was there when Yixing teased Zitao for his supposed obsession with Gucci. But whatever Zitao wears, he always ends up looking like he walked out of a fashion magazine. Sehun's favorite parts are his earrings, though. Half of the time, he wants to mouth around them, along the curve of Zitao's ear.

Sehun looks on in amazement as Zitao methodically peruses his closet, practically squealing at some of the items. He's tried on several sweaters and all of Sehun's winter coats that Sehun should probably air out now, and trousers and shirts keep being thrown on Sehun's bed to try on later. Sehun chuckles as Zitao scrunches his nose at some of his choices and praises him for others, like he's the kid in school getting his extensive project evaluated, with good points and weaknesses pointed out to him. Then Zitao falls silent when his hands brush against the old knitted sweater. Sehun's grandmother used to knit, and he got that one from her many winters ago.

"Last year of high school," Zitao says, fingers running over the wool pattern, "I was in love. Like, maybe. I don't know. I just. There was this teacher, fresh out of college, full of smiles and enthusiasm and so much energy. He was just so ..." Zitao takes a breath. "He was a man, and I was so enamored. I thought I wanted to go study chemistry because that's what he loved so much. I only really liked to rap though. So I wrote him these songs, or just verses to rap, and thought maybe that would be enough. To get it out of my system. I kept them all under my bed. The school year ended, and I was just skipping from one part time job to another, waiting in front of school at the end of most days and always talking to him while he waited for his bus. I ... rumors started to spread. And I knew my parents weren't really ... favorable. I mean, there had been that scandal at my dad's company about two male coworkers dating, and he had just frowned so much at it, called it wrong. My mom, she just nodded along, glared when I tried to say something. I couldn't. I couldn't let them hear. And he was always nice to me, but school was school. I know I was causing him problems."

Sehun itches so much to stand up and grab Zitao. "You don't have to explain," he says, as Zitao pulls the sweater off the shelf. Zitao shakes his head.

"I left. Before the rumors could get to my parents, before he could really get into trouble. I packed my bag, and Korea's not that far away. I'd been listening to music from here. I had the self-study Korean language book for some time. So I just packed up and left. I called my mom from the airport so she wouldn't worry, and then again when I started doing deliveries for The Happy Meat Buns. I still kind of thought, then, that it's just a phase. I wanted to wait it out, learn the language, maybe model a little because someone back in China told me I could, and then go back. But now. It seems it's not so temporary."

Zitao folds the sweater and puts it back into Sehun's closet.

"I'm sorry. You miss your family and." Sehun sighs. "Tao, I'm sorry that you―" Zitao turns around, and Sehun stops mid-sentence.

"For someone who always looks so stone faced, you apologize a lot," he says, trying to sound teasing.

Sehun blinks. "Please. My facial expressions are very varied," he quips, grabbing the pile of clothes on his bed. "Go try these on."

Zitao practically makes a runway show out of it. He sits Sehun in his living room with another cup of tea and flits in and out in perfectly matched outfits each time. Most of Sehun's clothes fit him too well, though the trousers hug his thighs and his ass more tightly, and the shirts stretch a little across his chest. He throws intense glares across his shoulder, pierces Sehun with his eyes before he turns, and it's torture. Sehun doesn't want to think about getting Zitao out of those clothes, but it's impossible. He would make a great model though, perfect closing act, the cherry on top of any men's collection that is any good. When he's done, he plops on the floor of Sehun's bedroom and starts re-folding the clothes.

"Thanks for letting me have some fun," he says. "I should go though. Yixing has a shoot early in the morning tomorrow."

Sehun nods and pulls the clothes he remembers looking especially good on Zitao aside when they are folded. He lingers in the bedroom when Zitao goes to make one last pot of tea and grabs a gym bag. He puts everything in and adds the old knitted sweater from his closet, too.

"Here," he throws the bag at Zitao. "I can't wear them anymore anyway, when you looked better than me in those," he mutters. The idea of Zitao wearing his clothes out makes his heart ache a little.

"Lies. You look perfect in anything you wear," Zitao says, looking at the bag like something is going to jump out of it any time soon.

"If you don't want me kissing you, you can't say things like that to me." Perfect. As always, Sehun just can't hold his tongue.

Zitao doesn't recoil, not too much anyway. He only nods slowly. "Go to bed early, be careful tomorrow," he says as he starts walking towards the door. He doesn't seem to understand that he shouldn't be saying things like that either. "I'm taking these, but only because you don't seem to need them. All you ever wear are jeans and baseball hats anyway."

Sehun watches Zitao put on his shoes. "Here, have my scarf instead. Keep yourself warm tomorrow. No going out during the shooting breaks, plant your ass somewhere near tea instead."

Zitao's facing away from Sehun, tying his sneakers as he continues rambling about cold prevention. Sehun steps closer. When Zitao straightens up, Sehun wraps his arms around him from behind, burying his nose into the collar of his jacket. Zitao took a shower here this morning. Sehun inhales.

"You smell like my body soap," he mutters into Zitao's neck. Zitao shivers.

"You are always sniffing things," he says weakly.

"I like it," Sehun mumbles. Zitao in his clothes, Zitao moving around his apartment with confidence, Zitao in his shower, Zitao using his soap and falling asleep watching TV on Sehun's couch. Sehun's lips ghost over the soft hair on the back of Zitao's neck. "It feels ... right. Here," he whispers, maybe hoping that Zitao doesn't hear him. He inhales one more time and pushes away. "Thanks again for keeping me company today. I needed that crash course on wasting the day away." Sehun tries to smile.

"Any time," Zitao says, voice soft. His hand brushes something from Sehun's shoulder, sliding right up Sehun's arm so that Zitao's thumb rubs a slow circle into the slope of Sehun's neck. "Bye," he mutters, and then he's gone.

 

 

 _I'm never giving the scarf back,_ Sehun messages Zitao the next day, along with the picture of his face wrapped up in the said scarf. _It smells so good._ It smells like Zitao and jasmine tea.

 

 

Minseok sits him down with a grave face. Sehun expects the worst.

"Before you say no, I want you to really think about it," he says.

Sehun sits up straighter. "Are you calling in your favor already, hyung?" he asks.

"Maybe?" Minseok says. "It's a project here in Seoul," he starts.

"Okay."

"It's basically a fashion week for young or new Korean designers."

"Okay."

"But at first, you'd have to be around to work with a few of them. They'll be holding a competition and they want models to be available for fitting and concept shoots and such prior to the actual Fashion Week. Then the runway shows during the week, the grand finale with the competing designs. Booklet shooting, press conference." Sehun scrunches his nose. Minseok plows on. "More shooting of the winning design and the best collections. Tons of ads in the city. This is partially government funded, so more press. A gala night."

"Okay," Sehun mutters. He hates the official business. Speaking in public should not be in the model's job description.

"You'd be like the main star. It'd be great exposure in Korea. There will be designers from abroad in the competition committee, you'd be all over that thing."

"Okay."

"It means at least three solid weeks in Korea. No other commitments until this is all over."

"Okay."

"I mean I know you kind of seem to hate staying here for a long time, but you've been coping well lately, and this would be a huge thing for our agency too, domestically. And for you of course, it would really help establish your name, your persona. It'd be a big step to not being just a nameless face from runways and fashion editorials. I think you should do it."

"Okay." Sehun says, face not even twitching out of its neutral expression.

"Don't say no so quickly. Just sleep on it. Wait what?" Minseok narrows his eye at him. "Okay?"

"Yeah." Now Sehun shrugs. Minseok's been making good decisions. Being stuck in Seoul would mean less jet lag, more Jongin, that dinner he promised his mom, more sleep. More time with Zitao. It's getting too cold to bike along the river after midnight, but Zitao's been more open to other things lately. They've gone to see a movie. Went to an open mike thing Chanyeol dragged everyone to. Zitao's tried to teach him making meat buns in the back of The Happy Meat Buns. "Yeah. I'll do it, hyung. I'll survive."

"Just like that?" Minseok's been pacing in circles around Sehun. Clearly he had instructions from above. This was important for the agency. Now Minseok sits down across from Sehun. "Who are you?"

"Oh Sehun. Your biggest cash cow." Sehun laughs.

"I can't believe this. You've grown up. You're happier, too. I ... Oh Sehun, did you knock up some girl?"

Sehun chokes on his water. "Hyung! What?!"

"Do you want to settle down and leave me behind? Did she give you the talk about being a perfect father, spending the evenings at home? Do you spend your mornings talking to some tummy?"

"Hyung. Is your wife pregnant?" Minseok is a reasonable person. His logic right now makes no sense.

"Maybe?" Minseok's ears color a little.

"Oh." That was such a wild guess too. Sehun's face splits into a grin, and he stands up to hug his manager. "I'm so happy for you. Congratulations."

Minseok shakes his head, but he is smiling brightly. "I still think you're being weird," he mutters, but hugs Sehun back.

 

 

Sehun and Zitao almost kissed twice, and Sehun held Zitao's hand in the dark of the movie theater, the two of them sitting in the half empty very top row so no one could peek at them from behind. Sehun has never promised not to do that. He's wanted to kiss Zitao every day for the past several months, but even the anime marathon they pulled at Sehun's flat ("Because what better way to watch sports anime than to _marathon_ it? Do you get it?" Sehun giggled, and Zitao looked so. Fond.) ended without a make out session, even if Sehun plopped his head shamelessly on the pillow on Zitao's lap several times. He still doesn't understand how he even had time to watch TV for two days straight. It's actually Zitao who's traveled more.

Sehun's doorbell rings, and he almost trips over his tux trousers when he moves to open it. In an hour, the closing gala of the fashion week night will kick off, and he should really get moving. He had his makeup done earlier because he sucks at it, and now he just needs to get dressed and catch a taxi. His shirt is still open, unzipped trousers hang loosely from his hips, and he can't pick a bowtie to wear. Whoever is at the door will have to deal.

Zitao stands there with takeout in one hand and some DVD in the other. "I felt like movie night. You weren't picking up so I figured I'd," he stumbles over his words when he looks up at Sehun properly, "... surprise you." He swallows. "Oh."

Zitao's eyes trail down Sehun's neck and over his collarbones. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. His eyes burn holes into Sehun's stomach. "Oh."

"I need help picking up a bowtie," Sehun says, because he needs to say something. He takes a deep breath and turns around. He swears he feels Zitao looking at his ass, still rooted to the spot in Sehun's doorway.

"I don't think I should. I mean, sorry, I got so used to you having free time that I didn't think. The gala night. Of course. Yixing's going, too." Zitao's voice grows weaker. Sehun has to turn around. He at least uses the time to zip up his pants.

"I'm sorry. But if you want to, you can stay here, eat the food, watch the movie, whatever. I don't particularly like gala nights with press and government officials. I'll be home soon."

Zitao shakes his head, eyes still on Sehun's chest instead of his face. "Help me pick out the bowtie," Sehun repeats.

Zitao finally moves, almost sprinting past Sehun into his room. He's already holding the leopard print bowtie in his hand when Sehun comes in. "This one," he says. His voice is low and his eyes. They are so dark. Sehun holds his gaze, starting to button up his shirt. He can't look away anyway.

"Okay," Sehun's hands are shaking, and the small buttons on his dress shirt are impossible to do up.

"Here," Zitao steps closer, fingers grasping the shirt and getting to work on closing it. He buttons it up all the way to Sehun's collar, his breath hot against Sehun's cheek. He lifts the collar and puts the bowtie in place, reaching around Sehun to clasp it in place. His lips are millimeters from Sehun's ear. Sehun's breath hitches. Zitao's socked toes quickly swipe against Sehun's ankle. He steps back a little and folds the collar back in place.

"Stretch out your arms," Zitao instructs. He puts Sehun's cuffs on for him and takes another step back, reaching for the tux jacket. "Here, put it on and let me see." Sehun does as he's told, and Zitao walks around him, smoothing his hands down his back and pulling at the bottom edge of the jacket. He comes back around and smiles feebly. "Perfect." Sehun can't find his voice. Zitao manages another smile, then picks up the takeout. "You look great. Have a great night."

Sehun spends the night thinking of Zitao's fingers on his neck, on the buttons of his shirt. He wonders how Zitao would look in a tux, imagines how great it would look if they came together, how much better this night would be with Zitao standing next to him, commenting on the guests' wardrobe choices and taking selcas and silly short videos to post online. Sehun wants. Sehun needs.

 

 

 _Your face is all over Seoul. Did you finally sell your soul to devil?_ Chanyeol messages him during the last day of shooting for the winning collection of New Designers' Seoul Fashion Week.

_How's your full body pillow? I met him and Yixing the other day for a shoot. He looked all pro and hot in that shirt I gave you for your birthday._

_Zitao is fine. Shut up. I just gave him some of my ugly clothes. He has as bad a taste as you do._

_Liar. My taste is impeccable. Jongin says hi._

_Ewww, are you cuddling? Is he reading over your shoulder? Could you be any more disgusting together?_

_You're just jealous because you're working at eleven at night and your body pillow doesn't want to cuddle._

_When conscious, anyway._ Chanyeol sends as an afterthought.

 _NOT YET._ Comes the next message, this time from Jongin. _GO GET HIM TIGER_.

Sehun groans but has to laugh a little. Across the room from him, Zitao's looking over Yixing's shoulder as they check the most recent set of pictures. Zitao's wearing Sehun's t-shirt and a long sweater. He looks great. He's been avoiding Sehun all day. Has been ever since the _bowtie episode_ , another drawback event Sehun felt the need to name appropriately. Zitao looks up and catches Sehun watching. Sehun doesn't look away. There's a huge after party, later tonight. It's probably starting about now, without them, but they're all expected, and Sehun thinks he can count on Yixing to drag Zitao along. Sehun is too much of a pro to confront Zitao when they're both working. But he won't let him get away tonight.

 

 

At four in the morning, Sehun is mostly exquisitely drunk. Zitao came to the after party, but the last Sehun saw him, Nana, the pretty idol who has been shooting with them, had been pressed against his back at the bar, whispering something into his ear. Sehun ordered some fruity cocktail, but switched to just plain vodka soon after. About an hour or two ago, though, Yixing stole his last shot from him, pushed a glass of water into his hand and told him to dance or to go home. Sehun figured Zitao might still be around the club somewhere, so dance it was. Now, he's spinning in the middle of the dance floor, colorful lights and the smell of sweat and too sweet cocktail fruit swimming all around him. When he bumps into a solid body, he runs the hands down the chest and forces his eyes to open more, to look at the man still holding onto his hips, ready to tell him off.

Oh. It's Zitao.

They don't say anything, but Sehun wraps his arms around Zitao's neck, moving closer. It's Zitao who pulls their hips together.

Sehun's mind gets hazy. "Is this okay?" he still asks. "Are you okay? Are we okay?" Zitao's leading him. Sehun is the one who used to be a dancer, but it's Zitao who makes them follow the beat. "I love dancing, you know. I listen to dance music when I can't sleep," he blabbers on, shouting over the music. "Sometimes, I just dance to it in my head until you're not there to distract me anymore." One of Zitao's hands grips Sehun's hip harder, the other settles on the curve of Sehun's ass. "I think no one cares here, you know. What we do."

"Shut up, Sehun," Zitao says, rolling his hips again. "Please."

"You've been avoiding me. You told me not to, and then you just," Sehun blows hot air over Zitao's face on purpose. "Pooof," he finishes.

"How drunk are you?" Zitao asks, nose wrinkling.

"Not enough. I'm still getting hard. So not enough. Never enough." Sehun sighs and goes to drop his head on Zitao's shoulder. But Zitao grips his chin, and pulls his head up. "I know what I'm saying," Sehun says seriously. "Yixing stole my drink. Sadly I'll remember this tomorrow. That I was being stupid again."

Zitao's fingers push Sehun's chin higher. "Shut up," he says again. "You can't say things like that to me, if you don't want me kissing you."

Sehun snorts. "No, it's you who doesn't want to be kissed."

Zitao stops dancing then. The hand on Sehun's ass moves up to circle his waist, bringing them too close. He kisses Sehun, deep and hot, right there on the dance floor. Sehun whimpers into the kiss, lets Zitao lick into his mouth and take and take, until Sehun has run out of breath, and there's nothing in his head but Zitao, Zitao, Zitao, warm and so solid against him, one thigh pushed between Sehun's own, biting and licking and sucking at Sehun's lips.

Someone elbows Sehun, and he groans into the kiss. His mind clears a little, and he realizes he doesn't particularly want to be a public show for someone with a phone and a penchant for online forums. He pulls at the collar of Zitao's shirt. "Let's move. Now."

Sehun pretends to drunkenly slump on Zitao in the taxi, but it's only so he can dig his nose into the crook of Zitao's neck. He spends the entire ride to his apartment sucking hickeys into Zitao's skin in reach, one of his hands slipping between Zitao's thighs to rub along the inseam of his jeans. Zitao muffles tiny moans into Sehun's hair. Underneath the cigarette smoke and sweat, Sehun still traces Zitao's after-shave.

This time, they make out during the entire elevator ride to the top floor. Sehun is so hard that the press of his tight jeans against his cock actually hurts. He can feel the throb of Zitao's erection through the denim, too. He drops to his knees the moment the door closes behind them.

"I've wanted to do this since the day we went to eat meat at Happy Buns," he mutters. Zitao's eyes are wide, and there's still that fear there, but Zitao _wants_. This time, the want is winning, pushing the fear only to the corners of Zitao's irises. Sehun noses at Zitao's jeans and is about to unzip it, when Zitao's shaky hand comes to rest on his cheek. Sehun hates how that sobers him up. "Tao. Are you drunk? Is that why? Have _you_ been drinking?" Sehun tries to remember, licks behind his teeth, wondering if there was alcohol on Zitao's lips or just on his own.

"No," Zitao finally whispers. "I couldn't. I was just watching you. All night, Sehun. I couldn't stop." He leans forward, and Sehun tilts his head up so they can kiss again. Zitao's been drinking peach juice; now that Sehun manages to suck on Zitao's tongue, he can taste it, sweet and distinct.

"Peach," he mutters, amused, pulling back and finally opening Zitao's pants. He wonders if Zitao's ever let anyone suck his dick. He mouths the wet spot on Zitao's boxers. "I bet you'll taste like that too."

Zitao groans. "Please, shut up," he says, hand swiping along Sehun's collarbones, the other one tangling in Sehun's hair.

"Yeah," Sehun mutters, "yeah." He pulls Zitao's boxers down to his mid-thigh, taking the jeans with them, and hikes Zitao's t-shirt higher. He kisses down from Zitao's navel, tracing his happy trail, fingers already wrapping around Zitao's cock. It's thick and hot, and Sehun kisses the top before taking the crown into his mouth. Zitao moans openly for the first time, and Sehun looks up, wanting to see if he blushes. Red spreads from Zitao's cheeks and down his neck, disappearing under his t-shirt, and Sehun's sorry he didn't think of taking that thing off. He blinks, focuses on Zitao's Adam's apple bobbing, and sucks. Zitao's thighs tremble. Sehun slowly takes more of Zitao's cock into his mouth. He grabs Zitao's left ass cheek with his right hand, nails digging in, his left wrist twisting around the base of Zitao's cock. When Sehun sucks again, Zitao's cock twitches. The pull on Sehun's hair becomes tighter, and then Zitao's hips buck.

Sehun could stop him, could press Zitao's hips into the door and suck him off like that. Instead, he lets Zitao thrust into his mouth, again and again, lets him fuck his mouth, dropping his hand off Zitao's cock and hastily opening his own pants. Zitao's moans aren't loud, but they grow deeper. He's lost all of his control, trembling and falling apart, hips moving fast and messily, and Sehun's jaw is starting to ache, his eyes watering,. He finally closes them, both hands holding onto the back of Zitao's thighs, throat closing around Zitao's cock when he pushes in harder. Zitao doesn't last, coming with the next hitch of his breath.

Now Sehun holds his hips down, but doesn't pull back, feeling Zitao's come on his tongue, in the corner of his mouth. When Zitao looks down at him again, his eyes are clouded and he's heaving for breath. Sehun pulls at his hand and Zitao drops to his knees, bracketing Sehun between them. Sehun wipes his mouth and pulls at the collar of Zitao's t-shirt, attaching his mouth to Zitao's collarbone. He pulls his own cock out of his underwear, slumping back a little. He bites the thin skin covering Zitao's jutting collar bones and pulls at his cock, fast and hard. The rough palm over the head of it surprises him, pulling a long moan out of him because it feels so good. Zitao rubs over the tip one more time then pushes his thumb into the slit. Sehun comes all over their clothes.

He feels boneless now, mind fuzzy around the edges. He doesn't think before he speaks. "It's right. This is so right," he mumbles. Nausea comes as fast as his orgasm did. He can't stop hurting Zitao. If Sehun stays still, his happiness never lasts. A sudden wave of fear crushes over him.

Zitao doesn't run. His clean hand is rubbing circles into Sehun's back as though he knows Sehun is sorry. Again. He wipes his other hand on his jeans and wraps it around Sehun's waist.

"We should move," Sehun chokes out. The words are muffled by Zitao's shirt, the same fabric softener, the faint trace of body soap. Sehun's soap. Even though it's impossible.

Zitao wraps all his limbs around Sehun. "I just did," he whispers. Sehun takes deep, heaving breaths and listens to Zitao's heartbeat until he falls asleep.

 

 

Sehun's had his fair share of The Most Awkward Mornings Ever. No one's immune to it. Since meeting Zitao though, he feels like the term has been upgraded to a whole new level. When he wakes up, Zitao's still wrapped around him, and yeah okay, Sehun has to give it to Chanyeol, it feels like Zitao is his personal full body pillow. He winces when he thinks about how bad Zitao's back will hurt once he wakes up. He tries to move, untangling their legs a little. He could really use a glass of water right now. And a shower. For a moment he imagines taking it with Zitao, water running down the slope of his shoulders, over his stomach, the curve of his ass. Fuck. No, no, no, no. He wills his morning erection to disappear, unconsciously burying his face into Zitao's chest as he does with his pillow.

Even now, Zitao smells so much better. He inhales, breathes in and out, again and again, and just when he thinks he's calmed down a little, Zitao wakes up. His body, so soft and relaxed up until now, immediately tenses. Sehun feels the pull of muscles in his arms and thighs still around Sehun's body. It shouldn't be possible to cling to someone at the same time as pulling away from them as far as possible, but it feels like that's exactly what Zitao's doing. Sehun is acutely aware of them being still pressed against the front door. Maybe Zitao's thinking of the best exit strategy.

"We are such lazy asses," Sehun croaks, and winces at how it sounds, shaky and coarse. Zitao digs his nails into Sehun's biceps. Zitao's pulse is erratic where Sehun still has his nose pressed against the skin on Zitao's neck. "Look," he tries again. "It's okay. Everything's fine. I understand. Just have breakfast with me. I bought more tea."

Just don't leave.

Sehun rubs a circle into Zitao's thigh. "Just breathe," he mumbles. Zitao shivers, and Sehun realizes he's been speaking into the crook of his neck. He can feel goose bumps rising there under his lips. He slowly lifts his chest a little and rests his palm on Zitao's cheek, thumb rubbing against Zitao's cheek bone. "It's okay," he repeats. He's so bad at this. But Zitao shifts at last, muscles relaxing again, and he groans. "Hard floors are a bitch to sleep on," Sehun tries again.

"I need a shower," Zitao says at last.

The knots in Sehun's stomach loosen a little. "I have the best showerhead in Seoul," he replies. Zitao's limbs loosen around Sehun, and he slowly gets up, making sure to hold his pants up with one hand. "I'll even let you go first. Being a good host and all that." He offers a hand to Zitao, and Zitao takes it, wincing as he gets up.

"I heard something about tea," he mutters, glancing at Sehun.

"Ah, now don't act spoilt," Sehun jokes. Zitao snorts. Sehun's shoulders relax. He does make tea while Zitao showers and quickly washes up too once Zitao is done. He's not hungover, not really, but he feels like a greasy breakfast is the best course of action. When Sehun returns to the kitchen, Zitao is frying the sausages, wearing Sehun's loose sweatpants and a tank top, sporting this really concentrated expression. He looks right at home in Sehun's kitchen, damp hair, bare feet and soft eyes. Sehun wants to touch him so bad. He steps closer.

"Hi," he mutters.

Zitao smells so, so good. "Good morning," he replies. It's completely unexpected when he wraps his free arm around Sehun's waist. Sehun leans on him heavily now that Zitao's initiated it. He's confused, but his nose is in the crook of Zitao's neck again, and taking a deep breath helps.

"You are so weird," Zitao mutters. "Thank you," he adds as an afterthought, the thumb on Sehun's hip smoothing out the crease in his pants. They eat breakfast in silence, and Zitao leaves soon after because he has a quick meeting with Yixing in the afternoon.

 _I want to keep Zitao,_ Sehun types to Jongin. Jongin sends him an incoherent mix of emoticons back. It's good to know Jongin understands how Sehun feels.

 

 

It's winter now. Sehun's schedule starts up again because Minseok isn't that soft. Yet again, Sehun begins collecting some serious flight hours. Somehow though, Minseok was right, and South Korea has now discovered him as the model that has been getting lots of jobs worldwide, listing off his runway appearances in various fashion weeks in Europe or the States, digging through his more interesting editorials and campaigns. He gets features in magazines with interviews, and Minseok laughs at how much he suffers through them. Sehun only lets it slide because more often than not he gets more than a day in Seoul between jobs abroad out of it. The feeling of stale stillness in his core still spikes at times, making him antsy.

 _At least you can sit still for more than a minute now,_ Jongin texts him, when Sehun restlessly messages him in the middle of the night, watching the busy intersection below from his hotel window in Singapore. _You proved Ms. Daeum, who taught us math in grade nine, wrong._

 _I suppose that is an achievement,_ Sehun types and chuckles.

 _Slow steps,_ comes Jongin's answer. Chanyeol sends him pictures of hopping rabbits. Those two are probably in bed together again. Way to rub it in. Sehun gets up and pulls Zitao's red scarf from the hanger by the door. Zitao is slowly fading from the folds of it.

He syncs his calendar with Zitao, and they spend evenings on Sehun's couch, watching TV, playing video games, eating unhealthy food and drinking tea on the rare days they're both in Seoul. Zitao likes to go to the gym with Sehun though, to compensate for their newfound couch potato ways. Keeping his heart rate up is much less of a problem for Sehun when Zitao is running on the treadmill right next to him.

Zitao's career picks up too. Yixing may have initially taken him on for lighting set ups, but let him do other things from the start if Zitao seemed interested. Zitao loves contributing to their creative concepts and styling. They start coming up with projects of their own, often more art and less fashion. Sehun hears the whispers of Zitao during his Korean shoots, registers the piqued interest in his circles. When Yixing starts a creative agency, Zitao is right there with him as his partner. When he talks about his job, his eyes shine and he looks so happy and relaxed. Sehun soaks it all up.

Sometimes, Zitao kisses Sehun. Sometimes, they sit on the opposite sides of the couch and keep to themselves, but other times Zitao pulls him close and curls around him. He likes to spoon. His palms against Sehun's stomach or his thighs are warm and steady. Sehun never reaches over first. He lives off the memories of the thin trail of hair down Zitao's stomach, of his thighs trembling, his face flushed with arousal. When he's alone, he relives Zitao's small gasps and quiet moans, pushing his constant desire to the small knot of stiffness that he feels at the base of his spine whenever Zitao comes too close.

Outside Sehun's apartment, they walk with a decent space between them, and Zitao's smile is dimmer. Inside, when no one's watching, Zitao lets Sehun smell his hair, steal his sweater or a winter hat. Zitao keeps wearing the sweater Sehun's grandmother knitted him as the winter progresses. When Sehun gets sent to a movie premier in early December to parade clothes of the designer that donned them for the movie too, he's told to bring a one plus. He goes alone because Zitao shakes his head and pulls his ankle away from Sehun under the table before Sehun even finishes asking him to go with him.

 

 

On Christmas Eve, they eat at The Happy Meat Buns, the old lady who owns the place sitting with them the entire time. She laments that neither of them, as pretty and young as they are, has a girl to eat cake with. It turns out she baked them one instead. When Chanyeol sends a picture of the one he baked for Jongin this year, all smug about his skills, Sehun sends a snapshot of theirs back, bigger and with more whipped cream and peaches, with Zitao pretending to bite into it.

 _My (milkshake) is better than yours,_ Sehun types.

 _ARE YOU ON A DATE WITH TAO? Also you are so gross._ Jongin messages. Sehun quickly hides his phone in his coat.

When they walk home, Sehun wants to hold Zitao's hand. Zitao keeps both of them in his pockets. Sehun walks Zitao to his apartment and doesn't get to kiss him goodnight. At least he finally knows where Zitao lives. It's been so hard lately, not to push. It's even harder, the slow realization of how much Zitao has settled into the crevices of Sehun's life. How much Sehun might like him.

 

 

Sehun's invited to a charity fashion show that some Korean philanthropist organizes in Paris on New Year's Eve. It's basically going to be one huge party and when he checks, Sehun finds out the hotel he'd be staying in has rooms with the view of the top of the Eiffel Tower. Sehun imagines it sparkling in the middle of a cold night. He can't stop the images of him and Zitao, walking hand in hand through the winter streets, getting croissants and making out in some abandoned corner of an art gallery. Oh Sehun, the teenage girl extraordinaire. But when he catches Zitao laughing at something as they sit in a hot pot restaurant, he imagines that laugh as they wrestle with snails in some posh French restaurant, thinks of how nice it would be if he could lean over and feed Zitao pork without him shrinking back, and he really wants all of that.

"Hey, are you listening? Or are you now too famous to pay attention when other people than you talk?" Zitao pokes Sehun's hand with his chopsticks and kicks his shin before moving his feet back in between Sehun's outstretched ones.

"Not you too, Brutus!" Sehun feigns shock, quickly shaking off that cheesy fantasy and focusing on Zitao.

Zitao pretends to hold the knife up high in the air. "Someone has to put you back in your place. I see your face everywhere these days."

"Are you sure it's not when you close your eyes?" Sehun asks, and then panics. Zitao blinks. "I mean. You're one to talk. At my last photo shoot, all the makeup artists and stylists could talk about was you and your 'unique touch'."

Zitao preens at the praise.

"Anyway, you were saying?" Sehun asks quickly, wanting to bury his latest stupid comment as deep as possible.

"Ah yes. It's just. Yixing is going home for the Chinese New Year and he suggested I go, too."

"With him? He keeps talking about his grandmother; she sounds like a really cute person. If you go, you need to tell me if she has dimples too."

"No. I mean. Go home, home. To my parents."

Sehun stops eating. It's not like he hasn't noticed how Zitao keeps making them eat Chinese food lately, how they recently watched a Chinese movie with English subtitles because Zitao's practicing for when he goes to L.A. with Yixing in the spring (Zitao keeps roping Sehun into talking in his backstage-learned-English, and Sehun always kicks or punches at him in return, terribly embarrassed). Zitao's always liked The Happy Meat Buns, but these days he's always going to visit, to make sure the owner is okay. Zitao's been missing home more and more.

"When was the last time you spoke to your mom?" Sehun asks.

"I've been emailing her, lately. I called her sometimes in October. I haven't seen them for over four years. And I just picked up and left ..." Zitao trails off.

"I think you should go. I'm sure they miss you too."

Zitao looks scared. He pulls his feet back under his chair and plays with the vegetables in their hot pot, dragging it in circles at the bottom.

"Zitao, they're your parents. Your mom's been talking to you even though you left. I mean, I can tell you love them. You can just stay for a day or two, see how it goes ..."

"Yeah," Zitao mutters.

 

 

Sehun is leaving for Paris tomorrow. He drags Zitao out for bubble tea and they walk along the riverside, noses freezing. Sehun wants to pull at Zitao's sleeve and bring him closer so they can huddle for more warmth.

"Come to Paris with me," he says. "I know you don't have anything planned for the next three days. Yixing is so nice about your work schedule by the way. So you should come with me. I mean, it's Paris. We can get drunk on New Year's Eve and climb up the Eiffel Tower on New Year's while hungover. French wine is awful for my head."

Zitao has stopped walking.

"You want me to go to Paris with you?" he asks, incredulous. His expression is closed off, and Sehun doesn't understand.

"Yes. No one cares what people do there. We could kiss in front of the Louvre, or ride one of those ponies on a huge carousel. I've never taken a boat on Seine, but I bet it's all pretty. I just have to walk one show, and then we can be together." Sehun is throwing his arms around himself, getting carried away, the straw in his bubble tea swinging from side to side.

"Sehun. I can't kiss you in front of the Louvre," Zitao says slowly.

"Why not? People there would probably think we're super cute." The winter wind is chillier today, and Sehun can practically smell the ice in the air around them. He buries his nose into his coat. It reeks of cigarette smoke, since he was in a club the last time he wore it, but it's not comforting anymore. His stomach just lurches.

"I don't care much about what people would think," Zitao says slowly, as if searching for the right words.

"Of course you care about that. You never even come close to me when you think someone might be around. I just figured, if I took you away from here, maybe, maybe we could act free, like we want each other." Sehun bites his tongue. "Please. Just. It'll be fun. You could be yourself there. Just for a little while."

"I am myself all the time." Zitao sounds hurt. "Sehun. I won't suddenly change just because I'll be on another continent. You said you understood."

"So then what? You still think girls are right for you and boys are wrong? When are you going to realize it doesn't work like that?"

"It's not that simple. I can't be like you. You might not care, but I still hear my father in my head, derisive and so ..."

"So what is it you've been trying to do these past few months? What am I, just a phase? Because you think I don't care?" Sehun winces. Zitao mirrors him. "Just come to Paris with me. All I fucking want is to hold hands."

"I thought you understood I can't do that," Zitao lashes out then.

"No. You just thought I didn't care." Sehun crushes the plastic bubble tea cup, and the tea sloshes out, spills over his coat sleeve.

"I don't become a different person when I cross the border. It doesn't work like that." Zitao repeats, upset.

"You said people change. I thought maybe you were trying." Sehun says back, voice weak now. He didn't want to upset Zitao. He promised himself not to push. So why is this happening? Zitao is so angry. Sehun just thought he'd want to go. Maybe somewhere along the way, Sehun has become so wrapped up in his wanting that he didn't notice it was just him building castles in the skies.  
  
Zitao's free hand is curled into a fist and his lips are blue from the cold. Sehun wants to drape himself around his back, with his nose in Zitao's hair and walk him home like that, until Zitao is safe from the cold. He wants to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, feel his pulse under his lips as he has so many times before. Zitao _giggled_ when Sehun was trying to guess what he did that day just from the scents clinging to him. He doesn't want to stand here, arguing about stupid Paris. He doesn't want to be told this is all he'll ever have, either.

"I can't keep you," he says, and turns away from Zitao. He walks quickly, breaking into run until he's on the main road where he waves down a taxi. His chest hurts, and his nails dig painful crescents into his palms. He's not even packed yet.

 

 

Paris in winter can be too gray for even the lights on the Eiffel Tower to brighten it up. Sehun messages Minseok and asks him for more work.

 _I feel like I've been rotting, sitting still on my ass for too long,_ he writes.

Minesok calls to ask if he's okay.

"I'm always okay, hyung," Sehun says, and doesn't ask about Minseok's wife this time.

Chanyeol keeps checking on at him late at night, somehow keeping up with Sehun's timezones. _Where are you?_ he always asks. _Try to sleep,_ his last message says, always. Sehun hasn't told him anything, and he doesn't want to know what Chanyeol guesses.

For three weeks he flies from place to place. His apartment becomes just a dust collector once again. His cleaning service rips one of his throw cushions, and he has no time to buy a new one. Yixing calls him and makes small talk for half an hour. The only time he mentions Zitao is when he says that both of them are going to China for the Chinese New Year, after all.

"Drink some herb tea so you don't get sick," he says, before he hangs up. Sehun is in Miami and decides Long Island counts too. In the hotel bar, he meets Baekhyun, here for the same campaign shoot. Baekhyun has nice fingers, pretty and long, and Sehun's pretty sure he wouldn't mind making good use of them. Sehun gets drunk but sleeps alone. The ocean smells different here.

Zitao calls too, the second week of January. Sehun doesn't pick up. Zitao sends text messages and kakao talk messages, and Sehun doesn't open one of them. It might not be fair, but Sehun's been still for way too long. Now he has to keep on moving.

At the end of January, he shows up to a photo shoot with dark circles under his eyes and skin so bad the makeup artist doesn't know what to do with him. So Sehun might've not been sleeping too well. Dance mixes don't help. When he closes his eyes, he sees Zitao and himself dancing in a club, flickers of light and desire floating all around them. When he concentrates on the beat, he can hear Zitao rap to it in soft Chinese, fluid and thrumming around Sehun.

His agency is contacted about his not-so-favorable state, and Minseok books him a plane ticket home. He takes one look at him and cancels the only thing he had planned in the next three days. Sehun lies curled up on his sofa, with the single throw pillow under his head and the blanket thrown over himself. Sometime in the past three weeks his cleaning service washed that too. The only thing he has in here is jasmine tea, and he makes a big pot of it, cup placed on his coffee table, and watches the steam rise up from it, breathing the scent in.

 _I fucked it all up,_ he texts Jongin and Chanyeol both.  
  
Jongin shows up an hour later with two buckets of fried chicken, a bag full of groceries, and the newest finished anime he's been trying to make Sehun watch.

"You know, lately I've felt your boyfriend talks to me more than you, my best friend," Sehun says, already dropping his head into Jongin's lap.

"Well, I’ve always had people to do the dirty work for me. I'm here for the good stuff, though." Jongin runs his hand through Sehun's coarse hair. They've dyed it again for his last job, and it's dry and catches in knots.

"Kyungsoo-hyung making you kimchi spaghetti doesn't translate to people doing the dirty work for you, Jongin. That was the good stuff."

Jongin laughs. “I see nothing can beat the brat out of you. What did you do?"

Sehun buries his face into Jongin's soft sweater. Jongin smells familiar. Maybe a little like Chanyeol does.

 

 

Chanyeol shows up the next morning. He cleans up the greasy napkins and the buckets with chicken bones and makes them both go sleep in bed. When they wake up, there's soup on the kitchen table and Chanyeol has Sehun's phone in his hands.

"Twenty five unread messages? Oh Sehun, you are a jerk," he says.

"I think I love Tao," Sehun says instead of an answer. He drops to his chair and starts eating his soup mechanically.

Jongin clears his throat. "I didn't even need to give him any clues. He figured it out all by himself."

"And because you love him, you've been ignoring his calls and messages for the past three weeks or so?" Chanyeol sounds almost amused. A bit pitying.

"I upset him. I don't think he wants to talk to me. I don't want to talk to me."

Jongin pats his head. "Well, it's a good thing you have other people to do that for you. Also twenty five messages might mean Zitao actually likes men who are totally inept in matters of relationships."

"Tao doesn't want to like men," Sehun says.

"I don't think he has much of a choice in that one. Maybe that's a bit hard to accept, though," Chanyeol says.

Chanyeol and Jongin are a terrible tag team.

"It's not like I don't know that. I don't know what happened. I told myself I'd give him space. It's not like I can date him or anything, I'm never here. But then ..."

"Sehun, you didn't even tell him you like him. You just jumped him in your entryway and sniffed at him, repeatedly. The first time you met properly, you hit on him. Maybe if you communicated ..." Jongin trails off, making a face.

"I can't believe _you_ are lecturing me on communication. You made _me_ tell Chanyeol you wanted him to take you out for a second date even though he spilled all that expensive wine all over you."

"Sehun," Chanyeol mutters.

"I ignored his messages for three weeks. I'm a horrible person. And now he's gone home to China, and instead of me making sure he's okay, I made it all worse. He's seeing his parents for the first time in four years, and I'm sitting here, eating your soup."

"You're so dramatic when in love, Sehunnie," Jongin mutters. "Just go see him, then. I'm sure Yixing knows the address."

Sehun looks up, his knee jerking, like he should be running already. "I can't do that. That might make things worse for him. His parents don't even know. I can't just waltz in there and pretend I'm his very good friend from Korea who is so concerned for him he has to check up on him at his parent's house. Might as well spell it to them that I want to suck his dick again because he tastes like peaches." Jongin, with his mouth open wide, looks like a very regular fish. "Besides, I'm flying to Shanghai tomorrow morning."  
  
"Well, maybe you could start by opening his messages and replying to one of them," Chanyeol suggests, barely keeping his face straight. His eye twitches comically.

"Maybe. Later. I'm still processing the whole love thing."

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, but doesn't press.

They watch more anime that day, and Sehun sleeps between Chanyeol and Jongin on his bed, coaxed into sleep by them murmuring to each other about mundane things over his head.

 

 

Jongin has rehearsal, so Chanyeol drives Sehun to the airport the next day. "You know. You telling Tao that you love him might not change the fact that he won't hold your hand in public," Chanyeol says carefully, as they switch lanes.

"I know," Sehun sighs, sinking lower into his coat.

"So what are you going to do? Because that's not an easy thing to process. I would understand if you―" Chanyeol rarely doesn't have words.

"I'll deal with it," Sehun says. "If he wants to deal with me, I'll deal with it. I ... miss him. I'd rather be a couch potato for the rest of my life with him, than walk around Paris alone." That sounded less like crap in Sehun's head. He needs to come up with something better before he calls Zitao.

Chanyeol chuckles. "Make sure you tell him that, Sehunnie. That will sweep him right off his feet."

"Whatever. My couch is awesome," Sehun retorts. "Thank you for everything, hyung," he says as he opens the car door at the airport.

Chanyeol waves his hand dismissively. "Run along, you lost soul."

This is why Jongin doesn't usually let Chanyeol watch anime. He starts talking like a character from some very strange one.

 

 

Sehun goes from the airport right to the studio. In the evening he gets dragged to a club by staff he supposedly met before, but doesn't remember at all. When he comes back late at night, he unpacks the small box of tea and makes a cup. Maybe Zitao's mother and Englishmen are right. He sleeps much better with the soft scent of jasmine in the air.

The photo session continues the next day, a sportswear line. They shoot a short commercial and all that's left is a short magazine editorial the next day before he flies back. Sehun lies on his back in the middle of the bed, phone in hand, contemplating opening the first of Zitao's messages, when there's a knock on the door. When Sehun opens it wearily, he finds Zitao standing in the hallway.

"Happy New Year?" he says.

"What the fuck?" is Sehun's coherent answer.

Zitao's mouth actually quirks up. He looks so good, checkered coat and black boots and a scarf hanging loosely around his neck, his hair a bit longer than Sehun remembers it, falling into his eyes, and dark red where the hallway lights reflect in it. His cheeks are flushed a little from the cold outside, and he's looking at Sehun steadily. Sehun reaches out and pinches his cheek. Zitao yelps.

"You're here?" Sehun asks, jumping at the sound.

"Next time, pinch yourself if you think you're dreaming," Zitao huffs, pouting.

Sehun has to grab the doorway because his knees are shaking. "Really?" he asks, again.

"Well, you were avoiding me, so ..." He looks into Sehun's eyes, eyebrows raised.

"So what?" Sehun prompts, voice shaking too.

"Think." Zitao steps closer.

"You came chasing after me across Asia?" Sehun pinches himself this time. It hurts. "Oh god, that's so cheesy, and you made _me_ say it." Sehun is all false bravado.

"Sehun, shut up," Zitao tells him, and kisses him. It's a soft and chaste press of lips that lingers in the corner of Sehun's mouth. Zitao's still in the hallway, but he pushes Sehun gently until the door closes behind him from inside with a thud.

"I'm sorry," Sehun says, pulling away a little, then kissing Zitao again. "I'm sorry."

Zitao shakes his head, taking Sehun's cheeks between his hands and making him look straight into his eyes. "I'm sorry too. I realize you meant well, I just."

"No, I said whatever was okay." Sehun is dizzy with how close Zitao is, with the taste of his lips and his aftershave. He places his hands on Zitao's hips, slowly. "And then I was sulking instead of talking to you. And like, how bad must it be when Jongin tells me I should communicate? But he's right, and why are you here, again?"

Zitao laughs. "Were you always so dramatic?"

Sehun pushes at Zitao's coat with one hand, until it's off and on the floor. "I'm never dramatic. I'm a composed young adult professional who has his behavior perfectly in check."

"You're rambling," Zitao mutters, fingers running through Sehun's hair as he slips out of his boots. "I missed it. I missed you."

Sehun exhales and pulls Zitao down onto the bed. He settles on his side, legs tangling with Zitao's right away. He kisses Zitao again, deeper this time, but keeping it slow, tracing Zitao's lips with his tongue. Zitao rubs the back of Sehun's neck and sighs into the kiss. Sehun pulls back a little, but Zitao just uses the hold on Sehun's neck to pull him closer, smashing Sehun's nose into the hollow of his neck, his mouth kissing the top of Sehun's head.

"This feels right," Zitao says then, whispers it into Sehun's hair. Sehun's body sags in Zitao's hold. He shuffles closer. Zitao's scent is all around him, and he takes long breaths, mouthing at the skin under Zitao's collarbones. He feels drowsy, but he can't fall asleep now.

"It really does," he mumbles. He hopes what he says next won't scare Zitao. "I love you. And I care. Okay? I really care. Don't let my perfectly sculpted face fool you."

Zitao's chest rumbles with laughter, but his pulse is quicker than it had been moments ago. "My mom said people fight all the time. But that more often than not it's because they care for each other. She said I should go and make up with you. To start the new year right."

"You told her about me?" Sehun wiggles in Zitao's hold a little, and Zitao's lips ghost across his ear.

"Hmmm," he hums. "Stop moving so much," he adds, pressing on Sehun's shoulder.

Sehun turns around and lets Zitao spoon him from behind, one hand beneath Sehun's head, another splayed across his stomach. Warmth spreads through Sehun's body from there. "Don't change the subject," he says.

"I told her there was someone in Seoul who took really good care of me this past year, but we fought. I didn't tell her. I didn't tell her that I love you."

Sehun's breath hitches. Zitao's heart beats quickly against Sehun's back.

"I think she knows," Zitao continues, and for a moment Sehun stiffens. Zitao, though, stays relaxed, thumb bunching the fabric of Sehun's sleep shirt as it moves up and down over Sehun's navel. "I told my parents about work and about Yixing and about Happy Buns, and dad hit me when I came through the door, punched me in the stomach for making mom cry, and then they both hugged me. They were so supportive, so happy that I'm doing what I like. Dad almost didn't flinch when I said I like fashion. And then when I was leaving, mom said I should bring you along sometimes. She remembered your name and she smiled like she used to smile when I was stressed about school or when I couldn't figure out the new move in wushu, like she knew I needed calming down."

Sehun covers Zitao's hand on his stomach.

"I'm ... I'm really glad," he mutters. "And happy. Because you love me, too," he says. It's Zitao who leans his forehead on Sehun's back this time.

"I really do."

"Does this mean I can hold your hand when we are being couch potatoes together?"

When Zitao lets out a huff of breath, Sehun shivers. "Yes, and you can kiss me too, and such ..." Sehun chuckles. "I mean, I know you always let me come to you, but you don't have to do that anymore. I'm working on it. And it won't be tomorrow, but one day you can kiss me in front of the Louvre. I hear it's fun to make out in the corners of big art galleries, too"

Sehun chokes. "Who told you that?"

Zitao laughs. "Apparently Yixing has a secret life. He was trying to make me board the plane on New Year's Eve, and he gave me a whole Paris bucket list." Zitao's foot slides up and down Sehun's shin. "So one day, we'll ride that carousel pony together."

Sehun's exhaustion slowly sets it. He presses back against Zitao a little more, and Zitao hooks his chin over Sehun's shoulder. "You have yourself a deal."

 

 

They don't fly back together. As it turns out, Zitao has to be in Beijing for a project with Yixing and Sehun heads off for another shoot for his accessories deal. February is cold and full of slush everywhere Sehun goes, and he's only happy to hole himself up in his apartment once he's finally back in Seoul at the end of the month. He takes a long shower then orders from Happy Buns.

It's Zitao who delivers. "Surprise," he laughs.

"You have to stop showing up in my doorways like this," Sehun breathes out against his mouth. Every time it happened, Sehun found himself wanting Zitao so much it burnt on the inside.

"But it's so much fun watching you trying to look like you totally expected it," Zitao laughs.

"I missed you," Sehun mutters. “Can we kiss and such now?"

"Not hungry after all?"

"We can heat it up later. Chanyeol taught me how to use my microwave."

"I'm impressed," Zitao chokes out. Sehun's hand is in his jeans already. "Oh fuck."

"Yeah, actually, about that. I really want to," Sehun says, walking backwards towards his bedroom and mouthing the shell of Zitao's ear. "Is that okay?" Zitao moans. Sehun takes the long chain of his earring between his teeth and pulls a little. He slowly drags his hand out of Zitao's pants though, just resting them above Zitao's waistband. "I mean, I'll do whatever you want me to." Sehun kisses behind Zitao's ear and takes a deep breath. "Have you ever..."

Zitao shakes his head quickly, but his hands stay clasped around Sehun's neck. "But I want to. It's you, and I want to do everything. You know I want to."

"Want you, too," Sehun says, and it's something he's felt for so long, desire and need always bubbling under his skin. The overdue verbal admission feels elating. Communicating feelings has been new, but with only texts and Skype for a month, it's better than bottling things up. Zitao is absolutely relaxed now, in his arms.

They stop at the foot of Sehun's bed, and Sehun gets Zitao out of his coat, his sweater―the one knitted by Sehun's grandmother and Sehun flushes a little at the thought―and Zitao's shirt. The jeans Zitao is wearing used to be Sehun's too.

"I love when you wear my clothes," he murmurs.

"You are so weird," Zitao laughs.

"You love it too," Sehun mumbles, nosing under Zitao's chin, inhaling deeply. Zitao giggles. "You showered before you came here," Sehun says, and preens. "Why is that? What were you hoping for?"

Zitao flushes, and this time, Sehun sees it spreading across his chest. He runs his palm across the blush, thumb catching on Zitao's nipple. Zitao groans, and Sehun twists the nipple between his fingers. Zitao, after a moment, starts pulling at Sehun's clothes too. Eventually, two pairs of jeans and boxers end up on the floor by the foot of Sehun's bed, and Sehun ends up spread on his mattress, Zitao sucking hickeys into Sehun's inner thighs, the only place that's safe. Sehun's cock hardens against his stomach, and he pulls Zitao up by his hair, mouthing up his jaw towards his mouth. Zitao bites his lip and slots their hips together, rolling his own down. Sehun hums in appreciation, feeling Zitao's thick cock drag against his own.

"So good," he mutters before sucking Zitao's tongue into his mouth. His legs fall open on either side of Zitao, knees bent, and like this he pushes back against Zitao in earnest. Zitao's moans get louder, his hands gripping Sehun's sides. Sehun runs his palms down Zitao's back, over the curve of his ass, grabbing it and pulling himself up like this. "You have such a nice ass," he breathes out. "Thighs too." One of Sehun's hands trails over them. "And I love how good this feels against my skin," Sehun says, fingers tracing Zitao's happy trail. "Fuck you're so hot." Sehun's nails scrape over Zitao's abs. "So hot," he repeats, fingers rubbing Zitao's nipple.

Zitao hides his head in Sehun's shoulder and thrust down. "Shut up, shut up," he groans, and Sehun realizes Zitao's close. He grabs Zitao's hip, one hand coming down to grip at the base of Zitao's cock.

"Not like this," he mutters. "I want you to fuck me." Zitao's eyes grow wide. "Will you?"

Zitao nods, biting his lip and watching Sehun intently, and Sehun pushes him to the side, reaching into his night stand. He pulls out the lube and lies back down. Zitao runs his hand up Sehun's thigh, over the red bruises he's left there, when Sehun pulls both of them to his chest. It's a shaky movement. Zitao's trembling.

"Relax," Sehun says, and tries to smile. He coats his own fingers and takes a deep breath. Zitao watches in amazement as Sehun teases his own rim, thumb rubbing in small circles before pushing against it just a little. He switches with his index finger and presses it in. It burns, but Zitao's eyes are so focused it makes Sehun push deeper right away. He gasps, and Zitao's eyes fly to his face. Sehun attempts another weak smile, pushing the finger slowly, in and out, and Zitao leans down, nosing at Sehun's jaw. He splays his palm over Sehun's inner thigh again, pulling his leg more to the side, and Sehun slides a second finger inside himself.

"You're beautiful," Zitao whispers. Sehun keens, fingers scissoring.

"Do you want to try this?" Sehun asks, breaths short. Zitao's hand moves to his cock, and he palms it. Sehun feels himself clench around his fingers. "Tao," he whines.

"Okay." Zitao sounds just as breathless. He moves to sit on his heels between Sehun's legs, one hand still pushing one of them up and spreading them wider. He gathers the lube around Sehun's hole, circling the rim, and then pushes one finger in alongside Sehun's.

Muscles in Sehun's thighs start to burn. "Yes," he hisses. When he pulls his fingers out a little, Zitao pushes deeper. "More lube," he instructs, wanting the slide to be smoother. Zitao reaches for the lube and spreads it on Sehun's skin and on his own fingers.

"Let me do this," Zitao says then, and Sehun nods, pulling his fingers out. He immediately grabs behind his knees, spreading himself more, and Zitao presses three fingers into him. He sets a pace, fucking Sehun like this, slowly, methodically, pads of his fingers brushing the inner walls and catching on the rim before he pushes them back in. Zitao leans down and kisses Sehun's stomach, where his muscles contract, and Sehun starts pushing down on his fingers, body taut and thrumming with pleasure. Next time Zitao pushes his fingers in, he finds Sehun's prostate. Sehun's back arches right off the bed, and Zitao's fingers still where they are.

"Oh," he says, his free hand tracing the curve of Sehun's waist.

"Just, Tao, move. Do something," Sehun gasps.

Zitao does, moving his fingers faster now and watching Sehun like a hawk. Soon, Sehun's thighs are trembling. "Do it," he hisses, the burn now gone and feeling on edge already. He feels Zitao's wrist trembling too. "Come on."

Zitao pulls his fingers out, and Sehun relaxes against the sheets for a moment, planting his feet back against his bed. He watches Zitao coat his cock in lube, sees it twitch when Zitao traces the vein on it, and Sehun files that knowledge away for later. Then Zitao is there, head of his cock sliding between Sehun's ass cheeks, and Sehun pulls one of his legs up high, resting his shin on Zitao's shoulder.

"Like this," he mutters. Zitao holds his cock in place and pushes in. The crown of it slips inside, and Zitao lets out a shaky breath. Sehun grips Zitao's arms for support, and Zitao slides all the way in. His cock stretches Sehun, and he focuses on the new faint burn and the feeling of being this full. Zitao shakes above him, holding still. "Move," Sehun says.

The snap of Zitao's hips is sharp, and Sehun hiccups. Zitao stills, shocked and a little afraid. "Do that again," Sehun just breathes out. Zitao bites his lip, and moves. Sehun moans again, and Zitao doesn't stop after that. He leans over Sehun, pushing the leg on his shoulder close to Sehun's chest and moans against Sehun's mouth. Sehun drapes his other leg around Zitao's waist and throws his head back. Zitao feels so good, his hips moving steadily and faster now. When he shifts his weight onto his knees, the head of his cock presses into Sehun just right.

"Fuck yes, there," Sehun babbles, out of breath and so close. His cock is trapped between them, rubbing against Zitao's stomach as he picks up his pace, thrusts a bit more shallow but faster and hard. Zitao has his eyes closed, his slick lips sliding across Sehun's neck now, and he's using all of his body weight to fuck Sehun. Sehun arches into it again, nails digging into Zitao's biceps, and he doesn't want this to stop, hot white pleasure spiking up his spine, but it's too late. The moment Zitao fits his hand between them and rubs at the head of Sehun's cock, Sehun comes, his moans hoarse. He squeezes around Zitao's cock, and that's all it takes for Zitao to come too, hips jerking without pattern now as they ride the aftershocks together.

Zitao holds himself up on shaky arms, catching his breath, eyes still unfocused. Sehun eases his leg down from Zitao's shoulder and leans up to kiss him, tongue sweeping behind Zitao's teeth and up the column of his mouth. Zitao's elbows frame Sehun's head as they kiss, Zitao locked in by Sehun's ankles over the back of his thighs and arms around Zitao's neck.

"That was so fucking perfect," Sehun manages to say at last, switching to light pecks all over Zitao's face.

Zitao shifts until he slips out, and they both whine. It makes Sehun bubble with laughter.

"You were perfect," Zitao says at last. He cleans Sehun the best he can, and Sehun watches him, content and his body absolutely loose. When Zitao comes back to lie down on the bed, Sehun automatically turns around in his arms.

"Meat for breakfast, it is," he mumbles. "All the beef I get to have right now."

Zitao swats at his thigh. "You are insufferable," he mumbles into Sehun's hair.

"You smell so good," Sehun manages to say before he drifts off.

 

 

Sehun saw Zitao in front of the photo studio for the first time in late March. A year later, he scrubs at his eyes, and makes a face at his fingers stained with glitter and runny eyeliner. He must look like a goth teenager who doesn't know his way with makeup, mind scattered as he waits in front of Korea's National Museum. The taxi driver had given him a weird look when he told him where to drop him off, but Sehun didn't care.

 _I think I'm going on a date_ he messaged Jongin while still in the car.

 _You think? Oh Sehun, what did I tell you about communication?_ Jongin sent back. _I hope you're not wearing a snapback._

Sehun stuffed it into his bag. His makeup looks even more out of place like this, and he stands out like a sore thumb. A group of high schoolers gives him a weird look as he spins around in his spot.

 _Don't spill any wine, Sehunnie,_ Sehun sees the message from Chanyeol and snorts. He doesn't have two left arms and legs, thank you very much.

"Hi," Zitao says then from next to him. Sehun jumps a little and pockets his phone.

"You're late," he says, pouting. Zitao bows his head a little, grabbing Sehun's elbow and turning him so that they're facing each other completely.

"Yeah. Let me make it up to you," Zitao says. He leans in and kisses Sehun. It's a quick kiss, chaste at best, and it's not the Louvre with its pyramids behind them, but Sehun stands there, perfectly still in that moment, perfectly happy.

end

 

**a/n** : Thanks to S and R for beta and encouragement and overall to everyone who cheered me up, and to my left thumb that managed to not get in the way as much as it could, being in a cast and all that. All mistakes left are mine.  



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